


The Picture of Yuri Plisetsky

by painted_lady12



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Abandonment, Abuse, Adoption, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Best Friends, Bottom Yuri Plisetsky, Boys Kissing, Break Up, Child Neglect, Classical Music, Coming Out, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Dates, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Homophobia, Homosexuality, Idiots in Love, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Love Confessions, M/M, Manipulation, Marriage, Married Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Oaths & Vows, Oral Sex, Parents Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Post-Canon, Riding, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Supportive Katsuki Yuuri, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, Top Otabek Altin, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-25 06:37:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12030246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painted_lady12/pseuds/painted_lady12
Summary: The title is in reference to The Picture of Dorian Gray, and the titles of the chapters will all be in reference to the book as wellThis fic follows Yuri two years post-canon, as he tries to sort through all the emotions that are still haunting him from the night he won the Grand Prix Final.In which Yuri is the heir to a small fortune and has to live up to his grandfather's standards and his mother's biting wordsAlso in which Otabek and him hooked up, and Yuri is ruined for anyone else ever.





	1. I Guess I'm Basil, Then

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! 
> 
> I'm going to be honest, this idea came to me while driving home at midnight from work and I'm still working through all the kinks, both literally and figuratively. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Minor character violence, a little bit of blood. Nothing too crazy! This fic may get more serious and require more of a warning in the future, but for now this is all I'm going to say.
> 
> UPDATE: Please see updated tags!
> 
> I don't own Yuri! on Ice, though it would make a lovely Christmas gift for me :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri goes on a date, and it goes to shit. Viktor and Yuuri are only trying to help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Experience is merely the name men gave to their mistakes,"- Oscar Wilde

Yuri was fussing in front of the mirror, staring at himself.  

 

“Come on, Viktor, stop messing around!”

 

“Aw, little kitten, you need to learn some patience,” Viktor chuckled, finally coming out of his closet with the pink, silk button-down that Yuri had had his eye on for weeks.

 

Relief flooded through him quickly, and he huffed.  “Took you long enough.”

 

“I’m giving you one of my beloved belongings, the least you can do is _thank_ me!” Viktor leaned behind Yuri to drape over his shoulders, and the teen hissed.

 

“Get off me, _old man_!”

 

Viktor just laughed again, walking towards the living room.  “Yuuri, don’t talk to Yurio, his claws are out!”

 

“That’s _not my name_!” Yuri yelled back, fingers unwinding the braid that he’d twisted into his hair earlier in the evening in a fit of nerves.

 

He pulled the shirt on quickly, smiling when it fit him.  He’d grown a few inches recently and filled out in his chest, and none of his old nicer shirts fit him anymore.

 

When he came out of the guest room, Viktor wolf whistled at him.  Yuri was close enough to the couch to throw a pillow at him.  “Shut up, Viktor!”

 

“Don’t talk to your elders that way,” Yuuri chastised, all grins.

 

Viktor clutched his heart from the kitchen, where he was drying dishes.  “You wound me, my love!”

 

“That doesn’t mean you can stop drying,” Yuuri snapped, coming around to sit on the couch in front of Yuri.  “So who is this person again?”

 

“Emma,” Yuri said softly, so softly that Yuuri had to strain to hear it.  

 

The Japanese man nodded, getting up and adjusting the collar of the shirt, eyeing the hair that Yuri had braided then undone.  “Well, if you’re going to the club down the street, let us know when you need a ride home.  We’ll gladly take you.”

 

Yuri felt himself go rigid, and then nod, forcing his body to relax.   _It’s okay, it’s okay…_

 

“Thanks, Katsudon.”

 

“Our pleasure!” Viktor called from the kitchen, and they heard a crash as a plate hit the ground.  

 

Yuuri sighed.  “I fell in love with a trainwreck.”

 

“What was that?” Viktor asked cheerily, bringing out the broom.  

 

“I said that I love you more than anything!”

 

Viktor’s eyes sparkled at that, and he cooed, “Yuuri, I’m so lucky to have found you.”

 

“I’m going to barf,” Yuri groaned, grabbing his wallet and heading for the door.  “I’ll let you know if I need a ride.”

 

They both yelled their good byes as the door closed, and he took a deep breath to steady himself.

 

_It’s just a date.  It’s just a date._

 

_It’s not just a date._

 

_It’s a test._

 

Yuri had planned this out for a while.  He’d arranged this night with one goal in mind.

 

Once he was outside of their apartment building in St. Petersburg, he took a seat on the bench, staring up at the sky in interest.  It was mid-May in the city, a delicate warmth gripping the city where normally it was plunged in darkness and cold.  There was no spring and fall here, despite the tourist department’s insistence.  There was winter, and sometime mid-May summer started, bringing with it moderate temperatures for a few months and relief for the residents.

 

He glanced at his phone and saw that he had a text from Mila.  

 

_M: Did you meet her yet?_

 

_Y: Not yet.  Waiting outside of the losers’ place_

 

_M: Text me how it goes.  I want double dates!_

 

_Y: Haven’t dumped the meathead again then?_  


Before he could check to see if she answered, he heard a girl’s voice nearby ask, “Yuri?”

 

He jumped up like he was electrocuted, hopping off the bench and plastering a smile on his face.

 

_Oh crap,_ Yuri’s breath caught at the sight of her.  She was wearing a dark purple halter dress that clung to her body like a dutiful lover.  Her face was heart-shaped, with two crystal-jade eyes peeking out from behind round-rimmed glasses.  Her long, honey-blonde hair fell in a sheer curtain down her body, tickling the bare back exposed by her dress.

 

“Emma,” Yuri said, feeling his heart flutter at her name.

 

“Ready?” she smiled, offering her hand out to him.

 

_She’s forward.  I like it,_ he remembered thinking about her when they first met. He was hoping that his palms weren’t too sweaty as he laced his fingers with hers.

 

“I’m glad we got the chance to meet up.  With your training schedule it’s been so hard to get together,” her voice was melodic, and he remembered what had drawn him to her in the first place.  She was a singer for a small indie band in the area, and when she took the stage, she was magical.

 

She had this shy smile that she threw at him, where her bright eyes were looking up through her lashes and her glasses fell down her nose just enough for him to see them pierce his soul.

 

“Yeah, me too,” he fell into step easily next to her.  “I missed hearing your voice.”

 

“We kept up over text,” she countered, but beneath her voice, he could hear that she agreed.

 

It had been a dark night just after a blizzard when him and Mila walked into the club and saw her singing on the stage, stunning in a shimmering black number, hair filled with beads and glitter.  During one of her breaks Mila had dared him to talk to her, and he had, made a little braver by the small flask they’d brought with them.

 

They’d kept up since then, for the last few months, talking about mundane things and keeping each other apprised of their careers.  Emma had even come to one of the exhibition skates in March, though no one at the rink knew that.

 

They’d been seeing each other for three months.

 

As far as everyone else knew, this was their first date, but that was all deliberate.

 

Though they had been seeing each other that long, they both agreed that they would keep things casual.  Both of them had crazy training and performance schedules, and Emma also had to balance her work as a waitress that she was using for rent.  

 

They stopped just outside of the club, and Yuri smiled as the music started pouring out and she started shaking her hips unthinkingly, her face lighting up.

 

“I _love_ this song!” she gasped, tugging at his sleeve so that he was following her inside, joining the writhing mass of bodies.

 

“I know,” Yuri said with a smile, guiding her until they hit a spot that was more open, and settling her hips against his own, grinding slowly to the rhythm.

 

They kept up the pace like that for a while before she was twisting out of his grasp, doing that shy grin again, her lips parted a little before she pulled him into a tango.

 

“What…” he found himself being led by her, and he also found himself laughing hysterically as she dipped him, waggling her eyebrows at him.

 

When he came back up, his lips found hers, a gentle peck, before he whispered for only her to hear, “I missed you.”

 

Her eyes softened as she wound her hands around his waist.  “I missed you, too.”

 

A flash of something, a memory coming back to him, and he recoiled as if he were slapped, pulling away from her.

 

“Yuri…”

 

“I’m going to get us some drinks,” he said quickly, trying to salvage the moment by making his way over to the bar and ordering two sodas.

 

He could still see it though, the afterimage bright in his mind’s eye.  The bartender frowned at him.  

 

“You okay, kid?”

 

“Eat me,” he hissed, and the guy shrugged, backing off.

 

When he got back to her, he saw that she had made friends with a few of the older drunk girls who had recognized her.

 

One of the girls, the redhead, giggled, hugging her enthusiastically.  “You performed here yesterday, and you were so hot.”

 

Yuri bristled, gently pulling Emma towards him, but the drunk girl followed, tumbling and knocking one of the drinks from Yuri’s hand.

 

Anger started building in his gut, but he remembered Emma, standing just behind him.

 

_Keep it together, Plisetsky._

 

He handed the one soda to Emma, who had pulled back to avoid getting the drink on her dress, and leaned over to help the drunk girl up.  Her friends were chirping around her like concerned and annoying birds, but not making a move to help.

 

“Here,” he tugged the girl, who wasn’t more than a twig but weighed a ton, into one of her friend’s arms, and two of them took her, thanking him profusely.

 

Emma sighed, running her fingers through her hair.  

 

“That was…”

 

Yuri couldn’t help it; it was eating him alive.  He leaned in and kissed her, sloppily, open mouthed, but she accepted it, expertly guiding him into a rhythm with their mouths, sighing happily into the kiss.

 

It took a minute or two before she pulled back, blushing a little.

 

“Want to go…”

 

“Yeah,” Yuri agreed, though he wasn’t exactly sure where or what he was doing, but he knew he needed _something_ , and maybe what she was offering was enough.

 

When they made their way past the writhing masses towards the back of the club, they found a closet that was opened and quickly closed themselves in.  The door muffled the beating of the music outside, and it had simplified into just base and occasional yelling by the DJ.

 

Emma pulled back from him, looking up at him with fake-innocence.  “Why, Yuri, what are you doing to me?  Bringing me to a place like this? Do you think I’m an easy girl?”

 

Yuri grinned.  Though he hadn’t ever gone past kissing Emma, he always wanted more, but wasn’t ever ready.  He wasn’t sure if he was ready now, but he definitely didn’t want to stop.

 

His fingers lightly cupped her cheek, thumb coming up to brush against her lip.  Her breath tickled his skin, and he remembered how she always made his anger disappear like it was a blip on the horizon.  

 

She came towards him slowly, like she was afraid that he would run, but he decided that for once, he was going to make it easy on her.

 

He met her halfway, pausing to take in her beautiful green eyes before they came together.

 

They kissed lazily for a few minutes, mapping the expanse of each other’s lips and mouths, tongues wrestling together with no real rush, no real urgency, until he felt her hands settle on his hips, slowly moving downward.

 

“Is this okay?” she asked quietly, and he swallowed, his mouth going dry.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Her fingers continued to run in lazy circles around his clothed hips, until they settled on his crotch, and he gasped at the sudden sensation.

 

“Shit,” he whispered, and then it hit him again, a memory so fresh even though it wasn’t, not really, of another set of hands touching him there, of another person’s breathy, _is this okay?_

 

“Damnit,” he threw himself back, and his fist collided with the wall, pain lighting up every nerve as his knuckles split.

 

“Yuri,” Emma gasped, taking a step back.  “Yuri?”

 

He leaned his forehead against the wall, saying softly through the gathering tears, “I’m sorry.  I… I wanted to want you.”

 

Her delicate fingers pulled his hand from the wall, tsk-ing at the blood that was tracking rivulets down the side of his hand.  “I had wondered, of course.  Who hurt you?”

 

Her sad eyes were doing that thing again, where they saw right into his soul, and he flinched back, blood dripping onto the silk shirt that Viktor had given him.

 

Somehow, he found that he didn’t care.

 

“It’s a long story.”

 

Her hand found his again, clutching it tightly.  “I’ll still be here when you want to talk.  I… I don’t think we should see each other anymore, but I want you to know that you still have me, okay?  I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Tears formed hot behind his eyes, and he nodded, his hands start to ache bone-deep from the pain.

  


***

  


When Emma helped him into the apartment building and rang the doorbell, Viktor called cheerily, “Is that you, Yurio?”

 

“That’s not my name!” he yelled, making Emma’s eyes widen.  Sometimes he forgot how much she calmed him, until other people came into the picture.  

 

The door buzzed and she grabbed the handle for him so that he could keep his hands elevated at eye level, blood starting to soak into the sleeve of the dress shirt.  

 

Emma helped him into the elevator, looking at him questioningly as her fingers hovered over the panel.

 

“Thirteen,” he muttered, and she pressed it, making an effort not to make eye contact.

 

“This is Yuuri and Viktor’s apartment?”

 

He had told her about them, mostly through annoyed texts, and he nodded, leaning his head against the cool metal wall of the elevator, breath condensing on the reflective surface.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do they know about me?”

 

His eyes closed as his head started to pound, images flashing without his permission, images he wanted with everything he had to forget.

 

“They think this is our first date.”

 

She nodded.  It was an agreement they had, to keep their relationship quiet, though he thought that it was useless now.

 

“I’m sorry, Yuri.  I wish I could have helped more.  I feel useless,” she deflated against the opposite wall of the elevator, making his heart pang in his chest.

 

_Please don’t, I don’t want you to feel sorry for me…_

 

The elevator dinged, and she went in front of him, pointing with either arm over the other in both directions down the hall, like a clock at 3:45 that had gotten particularly tangled up.

 

Emma had this mystical ability to do things far different than the average person, and far cuter than the average person.

 

_I wish you could’ve helped me too, Emma_

 

_I hope you’ll stick around after all of this.  I need someone like you._

 

“Right,” he said, and she skipped ahead of him, asking, “which number?”

 

“1310,” he said, and as he did they came up on the door.  Emma knocked for him, and it flung open to a particularly happy Viktor with Makkachin hovering behind him, excited.

 

His face went from happy to see him, to confused to see her, to concern in seconds.

 

_“Yura,_ ” Viktor hissed, pulling the teen in by the wrist and guiding him over to the couch.  “What happened?”

 

Emma awkwardly followed him in, hands behind her back, looking a little out of place.

 

“He punched the wall,” she said calmly, and Viktor spun, looking at her like she’d appeared out of thin air.

 

“Viktor, Emma,” Yuri pointed between the two of them with his good hand, and Viktor’s face lit up in recognition.

 

“Goodness, that’s right, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Yurio… Yura’s friend.  What happened, again?”

 

“You heard her, asshat,” Yuri growled, “Can you get the first aid kit, please?”

 

“My mother used to tell us that if we got ourselves into the scrap, we get ourselves out,” Viktor said suddenly, his eyes saddening.  Yuri had never remembered Viktor talking about his mother more than just that she enjoyed playing the piano.

 

The revelation that he’d gone off topic hit Viktor, and the older man ran off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit.

 

Voices came from the bathroom, and Yuuri came out from their room, yawning.  “What are you doing…”

 

Yuuri’s mouth fell open at the sight of the smiling girl in his apartment, and Yuri sitting on the couch, holding his rapidly swelling hand over his head.

 

“Viktor?” his voice was a little high pitched as his husband came from behind him with the first aid kit, kneeling in front of Yuri and gently bringing the hand down to look at it.  

 

“Honey, can you keep Emma entertained while I clean this up?”

 

Viktor smiled forcibly at Yuuri, who took the hint and walked over to Emma, who was now petting a curious Makkachin.

 

“Viktor and I made some cookies for a party tomorrow.  Want one?”

 

Her eyes lit up, and she nodded, following Yuuri out of the room.

 

“What did you do, Yura?” Viktor’s voice was soft now, really concerned, and Yuri blushed at the attention, looking anywhere but Viktor’s face.  

 

“Everything was going great, and I let myself mess it up again,” Yuri flinched as Viktor started cleaning out the cuts on his knuckles, clucking his tongue.

 

“What happened?”

 

He didn’t say anything, feeling himself start to break down.  “Can I… stay here tonight?”

 

Viktor blinked, a little taken aback by the sudden change in topic.  “Of course, Yura.”

 

They sat in silence while Viktor finished cleaning up the cuts, until he said softly, “She stuck around though, right?  That’s got to be a good sign.”

 

The teen laughed, because it was so ridiculous that Viktor didn’t know, and he didn’t remember why it had mattered so much that it was a secret.  

 

_I remember, I just don’t care anymore._

 

“We’ve actually been dating for a few months, we just haven’t seen each other a lot with our schedules.”

 

Viktor paused, trying to catch Yuri’s eye.  “Wow, a secret romance.  Must be some girl.”

 

“Yeah,” he said, feeling his throat start to close up.  “She is.”

 

Viktor gently wrapped a bandage around his hand and broke the cold pack, easing it onto the swollen knuckles.  “Keep it elevated and cold tonight, okay?  Otherwise there might be permanent damage.”

 

Voices floated back towards them, and Emma smiled tightly at Yuri.  “I think I should be getting home.”

 

Yuri hopped up and followed her to the door, and she put a hand on his chest, doing that shy smile again.

 

“I hope you figure it out, Yuri.  I also really hope we can stay friends.”

 

Yuri wanted that more than anything.  “Yeah.  I’d like that.”

 

She leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, and he touched the skin there, tingling from the affection.  

 

She left, and Yuri wandered back to the living room and collapsed onto the couch, rested his hand above him and pressing the ice pack to his hand.

 

The other two skaters stood near each other in the living room, exchanging meaningful glances.  

 

Viktor finally spoke.  “Well, I’m glad we met her!  Now one of these days we want to invite her over for a proper welcome to the family…”

 

“You can’t,” Yuri snapped, throwing his good arm over his eyes.  “We just broke up.”


	2. Lady Agatha Bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri practices with his injured hand much to everyone's chagrin. Yuri's mother and him visit his grandparents and Yuri has a lot of emotions about it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT so this fic got out of hand quickly. It's turning into a beast. I've already planned it out and have quotes and wow. No one told me how addicting this whole fanfiction writing is. SomeONE STOP ME I need to study for the GRE!
> 
> Anyway, these characters are becoming just as decadent and hypocritical as I wanted them to be. Lord Henry would be proud
> 
> There's a lot of classical music that I've incorporated now. Listening to the songs will help you understand some of the emotions, but totally up to you. I'm listening very happily while writing, and you can find most of these on youtube. 
> 
> Please note the tags. Now that I know where the story is going, there are some topics that might not be up everyone's alley. Please check them before starting. Speaking of...
> 
> ***TRIGGER WARNING: deals with homophobia, abuse, and mild unhealthy coping. If this fic makes you feel some type of way, give yourself time, go pick some apples in this lovely weather, and reach out to a loved one.
> 
> I don't own Yuri! on Ice, though I wish I did. My birthday is in December! Presents are always welcome;)
> 
> “I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvelous to us. The commonest thing is delightful if only one hides it,” -Oscar Wilde

Early the next morning Viktor nudged Yuri awake, tapping his watch to show the time.

 

Yuri groaned and moved to sit up, pain bursting from his right hand.  “Fuck!”

 

“We’ve got training, Yura.  Think you can come work on at least some basics?”

 

Viktor had choreographed Yuri’s most recent free skate, and the two of them had been working day in and day out on the components.

 

Unfortunately, Viktor was a morning person.

 

“Ten more minutes,” Yuri stuffed his face back into the couch pillow, but the dull ache from his hand couldn’t be ignored.

 

Viktor shook a bottle suddenly, acetaminophen, before placing it on the coffee table.  He was already in his training outfit, bag waiting dutifully by the door, Makkachin sniffing it in distaste.   _ Smart dog, she knows when he’s leaving. _

 

“Come on, we’re wasting daylight!”  Viktor was grinning, but Yuri just groaned. 

 

He reached for the bottle before huffing.  “Hey, idiot, how did you expect me to open it?”

 

The older man chuckled, popping off the cap for him and shaking three pills into his hand.  “Maybe next time you won’t punch walls when you have practice the next day.”

 

Yuri sighed, scrunching up his nose.  “Yeah, whatever.”

 

The teen shuffled over to the kitchen, pouring himself water and popped the pills back, assessing the damage.  The swelling wasn’t terrible, and it probably wasn’t broken, but it was stiff and bruised and he was already imagining falling on it in practice, wincing internally.

 

_ Stupid. _

  
  


***

  
  


“Wow, what an idiot,” Mila cackled, gently lifting up Yuri’s hand to see better.  The teen growled, pulling back his hand protectively.

 

“He couldn’t even work on his jumps today, and he’s  _ so close  _ to that quadruple flip,” Viktor grinned devilishly.

 

“I hate all of you.”

 

Viktor had had the rink for two hours of practice time between six and eight, but by around eight the others started filing in, rubbing sleep from their eyes and warming up on the ice that the two had marked as their own.

 

“Yuuri, the light of my life,” Viktor perked up immediately, skating over to his husband.  Yuuri still looked like morning monster Yuuri, though, lacing up his skates with bleary eyes.

 

It was a joke that all of the Russian skaters came up with.  In Japan Yuuri was used to having the rink to himself, and the first hour or two of being up he was especially cranky and unpleasant.  The only person who could stand to be around morning monster Yuuri was Viktor, who thought almost everything the other man did was simply  _ the cutest. _

 

“So what happened, anyway?” Mila’s eyes stared daggers at Yuri, who just shrugged, looking away.

 

Practice went pretty standardly.  Yakov came barking into the room sometime around nine and started ordering some of his skaters around.  Viktor and Yuuri were off to one side working on Yuuri’s new choreography, and Yuri was stuck with basics.

 

If his coach had anything to say about the matter, he kept quiet.  One look and he just nodded in recognition.  “Basic figures for an hour, then go to the ballet studio.  Can’t have you fall and damage it more.”

 

Yuri groaned.  Since his growth spurt, working in the ballet studio had become awkward and clunky while he worked out the balance of his new body.  Lilia was just as harsh as always, leading Yuri to start dreading sessions with her.

 

When he got there, Lilia’s nose wrinkled.  “You had such delicate, pretty fingers too.  Now there will be scars.”

 

Her distaste only grew as Yuri started moving, sniping comments and criticism at him every few seconds.  By time two rolled around and he left the studio he was about ready to kill someone.

 

Hopping onto the train, he leaned against the window, watching the scenery shoot by.   _ I  _ am _ an idiot.  I knew what I was getting myself into.  Why did it still hurt so much? _

 

When the train stopped at him, he climbed off, wandering through the streets toward his apartment.

 

When he passed by the bakery, he stopped in, smiling at Mrs. Tetsa, whom Yuri had known his whole life.

 

“Can I get the usual?” Yuri asked, trying for his best attempt at cuteness.

 

The older lady scrunched up her eyes at him, straightening up from her usual hunch.  “Yuri, you look skinny.  You haven’t been eating right.”

 

The teen sighed, slouching and giving up pretense.  “Please, Mrs. Tetsa?”

 

The woman started shuffling around, grumbling about the health of the youth, and handed Yuri a brown bag, ringing him up.

 

“I threw in some extra cinnamon buns for you, dear.”

 

A warmth rushed over Yuri as he handed over the cash.  “Thanks.  Sometimes you aren’t terrible.”

 

“You too, dear,” her frown lessened into a straight line, which was the closest that Yuri was going to get to a smile.

 

He wandered back out to the street, taking his time before he stood outside his apartment building, looking up at the small, prison-like windows and the neat, uncannily clean brick exterior.

 

_ Home sweet home. _

 

He unlocked the door and headed up to the seconds floor, passing Sasha, the small girl who lived underneath him, in the stairwell.  She had on pigtails and was adjusting her helmet and roller skates.

 

“Yuri, look, I’m going to be just like you when I grow up!” she roared, far too loud and enthusiastic.  Yuri rolled his eyes, digging his hand into the brown bag and coming up with one of the extra cinnamon buns.

 

“Here,” he tossed it to her, and her tiny pale hands caught it, blue eyes lighting up with excitement.  “If you’re going to be me, you at least need to know my favorite snack.”

 

She nodded, dark pigtails bobbing, and sat down against the wall, nibbling her treat.

 

Yuri hovered in front of his door for a few minutes, before opening it.

 

She was there, of course, sitting in front of the television.  No other lights were on, and she looked gaunt as a ghost.

 

“I brought you rugelach, mama,” he threw the bag onto the counter, and his mother looked up at him dreamily.  

 

“Thank you my sweet boy,” she got up and came over to Yuri.  Her son dwarfed her, a wiry six foot two to her five foot one, and she pulled him down to tug at his hair.  “What’s this?  More fairy shit?”

 

It was so quiet that he almost couldn't hear her.

 

The term made Yuri freeze up, not even remembering when he had braided that section.  “No, mama.”

 

Her face went back to dreamy so fast that it would have given him whiplash had he not been used to it.

 

“How was practice today?”

 

Yuri was already digging through the refrigerator, taking out all the materials to make his homemade soup, which he had been craving lately.  “Boring,” he said, then winced as he dropped a carrot that he’d accidentally grabbed with his bad hand.

 

“Oh, let me see,” her dreamy voice floated over him and simultaneously soothed him and set him on edge.  Her tiny, deft piano hands traced the bruises on his knuckles.  “Boys will be boys, I guess.”

 

Yuri pulled his hand back, shaking a little bit at the words.  “How was practice today, mama?”

 

“Oh, I have the piece down already,” she was looking at Yuri’s hand with interest, her blue-green eyes tracking its movement.

 

Yuri quickly went back to what he was doing, starting up the pot and boiling the water, chopping up the ingredients.

 

“How was your date, darling?  We’ll have to have Emma over for dinner again, soon.”

 

“It went well,” he said without even pausing in his chopping, switching from carrots to the onions, “That sounds like a good idea.”

 

_ I’ll have to text her a heads up.  She’ll understand. _

 

“We’ll be visiting your grandfather tomorrow.”

 

That did give Yuri pause.

 

“Which one?”

 

Talia Plisetsky, who was busy playing her piece in mid-air, sighed.  “You know it’s your father’s father.  We need to be wearing our best.  He’ll be giving us the rent money.”

 

Right.  They didn’t need an appointment to see Nikolai, who lived just upstairs from them.  

 

“You know, if you just let me take more sponsorships…”

 

His mother froze what she was doing, her delicate fingers mid-stroke of Hungarian Dance No. 1, pale lips thinning on her ashen face.  “Are you saying that you want to leave me?”

 

Yuri froze up.  “No, mama, just that we don’t have to take his money…”

 

Her fingers started up again in mid-air at a more hurried pace.  “Hush now, dear, I have to listen for the violin.”

 

Yuri sighed, continuing his cooking.  He could hear it, too, the first part of the performance.  The panicked and off-beat flutes, the soothing melody of the strings.  He’d seen the orchestra perform it in practice a dozen times, had fallen asleep to the sounds singing from the piano for three weeks straight.  They were performing it at a showcast in a week, and his mother almost never stopped practicing, her fingers miming the music even when she wasn’t at the piano.

 

It stood out in their average, run-down apartment: the beautiful baby grand piano, always polished and untouched by dust.  If Yuri didn’t see his mother polish it relentlessly, he would have thought that it was kept clean by sheer force of will.  A present that his father had given his mother before…

 

Yuuri shook his head, anger bubbling up out of nowhere, fists shaking.

 

“Darling, when is your next exhibition?  Isn’t the Summer Showcase coming up soon?”

 

Yuri felt himself soften a little at that, nodding.  “Yakov is contacting the sponsors now.  It should be in July.  I’ll be performing my short program from two years ago.”

 

Talia smiled.  “I always loved that one.  You looked like an avenging angel.”

 

“That wasn’t…” Yuri cut himself off, knowing it would get him nowhere.

 

His mother drifted off to sit at the piano again, starting Hungarian Dance No. 11, a pleading, hopeful thing, and Yuri closed his eyes and let the music run through his soul, speaking to him in ways he never would fully understand.

  
  


***

  
  


The outside of the mansion looked the same as always.  Trailing ivy wound up the trellises, the gate perfectly shining, spikes on the top just as intimidating as they always were.

 

When they rang, the housekeeper answered, buzzing them through the gate.

 

“Good evening Miss Plisetsky, Mr. Plisetsky.”

 

The house was quiet when they entered, and his mother immediately drifted into the parlor, where his grandfather and grandmother were having drinks.  His grandmother was proud and tall as usual, her high cheekbones and delicate features wreathed in a braided crown of silver hair.  His grandfather was wearing a burgundy suit, eyeing them over the rim of his martini as they walked in.

 

“Talia, darling, you look stunning,” his grandmother cooed, holding out her hand to grasp his mother’s firmly and press kisses to her cheek.  

 

Yuri almost choked on how artificial the whole exchange was.

 

“Yuri you’ve grown up a bit,” his grandfather said gruffly, looking over at him from behind his thick mustache.

 

“Yeah,” he said lamely, taking a moment to look at his favorite part of the parlor: the stained glass windows that spanned the whole back side, of Michael, the archangel who cast Lucifer down from Heaven, sword bright in all it’s glory.

 

Yuri wasn’t religious, but it was a story he remembered his grandmother whispering to him as a child, rocking him to sleep in her arms.  It had filled him with awe, even when he was too small to appreciate it

 

Within moments Talia had excused herself to the piano.  That was why there was never any music when they came over; it was expected that his mother would provide the entertainment.

 

“Have a drink, Yuri,” his grandfather busied himself making the teen a martini before he could stop him, and soon he was sipping the expensive drink, swallowing the alcohol bitterly and trying his best not to choke.

 

“You and that girl, what’s her name?”

 

Yuri’s stomach twisted.  “Emma.”

 

“Yes, Emma.  You two still seeing each other?”

 

“Yes, grandfather,” he responded shortly, not wanting to discuss the matter further.

 

It was a common point of discussion in these meetings, for obvious reasons.

 

Emma’s bright green eyes swam in his vision for a moment, and he hated that she wasn’t here, meeting them, him introducing his girlfriend, them falling in love with her the way he wished he could.

 

Polite conversation dribbled out as Talia played through Moonlight Sonata, his grandfather’s favorite piece, lost in the music and removed from the conversation.  Her silvery dress hung off her like starlight, giving her an ethereal glow that was beautiful and distant.

 

Just the way they liked her.

 

At some point the cook came out to announce dinner, and they moved to the dining room.  The table was arranged for his grandmother to sit just to the right of his grandfather and for Yuri to be opposite him at the long, ornate table.  His mother was at his own left hand, the idea being that eventually his right hand seat would be filled by his wife.

 

When he looked there sometimes in the last two years, he saw someone far more precious smiling back, but he knew it was all just a dream.  

 

You have to wake up eventually.

 

Yuri took another long sip of his third martini, knowing he needed some way to fuel the inane dribble that was passed between him and his grandparents, forgettable enough to slide out of his ear and onto the floor, piling up high enough that he imagines the maid would have to come in and sweep part way through dinner.

 

Talia’s silence was kept meticulously until grandfather finally put his napkin on the table, whispering to the maid, who came back with the checkbook.

 

“Rent is the same then, Talia?”

 

She nodded, smiling, and Yuri saw her fingers working below her, and he riddled out that it was his free skate piano piece from two years ago.

 

For a second, he blanked.  What made her think of that?  The music played in his head, rushed and aggressive, setting him on edge immediately.

 

“Now, Yuri, we want to get regular updates about your skating.  You know we love telling our friends about our successful grandson.”

 

_ Heir, you mean.  That’s what you want people to know.  That you have an eligible male heir who is successful. _

 

“Yes, grandfather.”

 

He ripped the check, handing it to the maid who bustled down the table and set it in front of Talia, whose fingers stilled in their playing.

 

“Shall we retire to the parlor for after dinner drinks?”

 

Yuri was already feeling warm from the earlier drinks, but nodded.  Alcohol was the only way he wasn’t going to blow his head at the forced niceties.

 

_ The heir to a wealthy family like yours needs to maintain proper decorum _ , his mother always said when he lost his temper,  _ your grandfather has eyes everywhere. _

 

Yes, he did.  Half the city was in his pocket.  The only people in his life that were blissfully unaware of Yuri’s status were his rink mates, and if they did know, they never mentioned it.

 

Around the second brandy, his grandfather’s red face set down his glass.  “So, Yuri, sources tell me that you’re still spending a lot of time with those queer skaters you’re fond of.”

 

The sentence his Yuri like a blow to the head, and he grimaced, taking a very long sip of his drink before responding defensively, “Yes, grandfather.  Viktor is one of the most decorated skaters in history.  He’s choreographed for me for years.”

 

“Ah, so it’s strictly professional, then?” he said, leaning forward a little in his chair, slight gut jutting out over his belt in earnest.

 

_ Deep breaths.  One in, one out. _

 

The butler was pouring him another drink as he answered softly, “Yes, sir.”

 

“Good,” he said, leaning back, and Yuuri sighed in relief that it was the end of it, until suddenly the older man stood, shuffling until he was right under the picture of the avenging angel, looking up at it thoughtfully.  “I would hate for you to take after your father and become one of  _ them _ .”

 

The word was spat on the floor, as he couldn’t look at the angel while even intimating at the thought of his father.

 

Yuri’s hands were shaking now.   _ Don’t let him get to you. _

 

Talia had drifted over to the piano and started up from Hungarian Dance No 4, playing furiously in time with Yuri’s reddening vision.  

 

“I don’t want you spending too much time with them, Yuri.  It’s bad enough that you’re dating a waitress, we would hate to have another incident like a few years ago.”

 

The memory flooded back like a sick joke, fresh, of broken glass and screams, of his mother’s piano playing in the background still, frantic as it worked over The Rite of Spring.

 

_ Don’t show him any weakness. _

 

Yuri grit out a smile, but he was sure that it ended up looking something more a grimace.  “Of course not, grandfather.”

 

The topic of conversation veered off to something more pleasant before all the alcohol hit Yuri like a truck, and he excused himself to the den, tracing his fingers over the marble bust of his aunt, who was the only one of the two children to remain in good standing with the family.  There was an empty space to the left where his father’s face had once been, and the alignment was off that the space felt deliberate and unsettling.

 

He remembered when he was five, walking out in the garden and seeing one of the groundskeepers smash it to oblivion.  His grandfather held his hand and they watched, silently, as his father’s legacy crumbled.

 

He dug his phone out of his pocket, calling Viktor and Yuuri’s cells, needing someone to soothe the anger and sadness that was pouring out of him, but they didn’t answer, and neither did Mila.  Even Emma didn’t pick up, and finally tears started to gather in his eyes as he dialed another number, leaning against the wall in defeat.

 

He didn’t pick up, either, but when the tone beeped he found himself speaking. 

 

“Beka, I know I don’t have any right to call,” his voice was barely above a whisper even though his grandparents were three rooms away, “I miss you.  I feel it all the time.  It hurts like crazy and I want to see you, want you to visit, want to… god, I’m so fucking stupid.  You don’t want to hear from me.  I’m drunk and stupid and in love with you, you idiot.  I’m sorry I called.  You deserve better than this.  You deserve the world and I’m messing with your head again.”

 

He hung up, sliding down the wall, wiping off the tears before popping up, drawing up all his resolve to put on a controlled smile.

 

On their way home from the house, Yuri clutched his phone so tightly that his knuckles turned white.  

 

_ I’m so fucked. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Already planned out most of the rest of the fic. Yes, Otabek shows up eventually. No, I won't tell you how it ends. Yes, Emma is still friends with Yuri I LOVE HER YOU CAN PRY HER FROM MY COLD DEAD HANDS.
> 
> Will put out a new chapter within a few days. Enjoy, friends, and if you like what you see or feel I'm doing something incorrectly, let me know in the comments. I love feedback like Yuri loved cats


	3. I Should Have Known I Was Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri remembers the fateful Grand Prix where he won gold and his grandfather had something quite unpleasant to say about it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this starts off with flashback Otayuri, then transitions into present day. More Emma, more Yuri angst. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This fic deals largely with abuse, homophobia (internalized and externalized), and other serious topics. If this fic makes you feel some type of way, please reach out to a loved one, and maybe eat some Doritos. Doritos make everything better.
> 
> I don't own Yuri! on Ice, and am still pretty bummed about it
> 
> “You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit,” -Oscar Wilde

 

 

_Two Years Earlier_

 

Yuri Plisetsky wasn’t exactly sure how he ended up here.  Here, being in his hotel room after he won gold in the Grand Prix Final, sitting cross-legged inches from Otabek Altin, having a staring contest.

 

They had just come back from a big dinner with all the other contestants, and then subsequently also came back from dropping the drunk Yuuri and Viktor off to their room.  The duo was clinging onto them and whispering about how they wanted to get un-engaged so they could get re-engaged.  

 

Yuri stopped Otabek from trying to convince them, for the third time, that there was no such thing as un-engaged, and had walked to his room, not even really realizing that he had invited the older skater in.

 

His initial fears were allayed once Otabek spread out on the bed, muttering, “I’m so exhausted.  Being with people is exhausting.”

 

“You’re with me,” Yuri countered, but Otabek had looked up at him with a sheepish smile.

 

“I don’t consider you people.”

 

“Oh, so I’m some sort of alien?” Yuri grumbled, hopping onto the bed next to him, bringing his knees to his chest.  

 

“Definitely an alien,” he agreed, and then somehow that had transitioned to staring contest, which Yuri would normally scoff at, but he hadn’t had so much fun just staring at someone in his life.

 

It wasn’t hard, staring at Otabek. In fact, Yuri found he quite enjoyed running his eyes over the older skater’s face, taking in his heavy eyebrows, his tanned skin, his stubble starting to microscopically peek through his skin.  His lips were slightly chapped, and Yuri licked his lips unthinkingly when he saw that, and in that moment Otabek blinked.

 

“Yes, I win!” he held his fists up in victory, and Otabek fixed him with a stare that he couldn’t look away from or misinterpret.

 

Otabek was kissing him almost instantaneously.  

 

It wasn’t forced.  In fact, Yuri was surprised to report that it made his whole body warm, and every nerve ending in his body lit up like a Christmas tree.  The older skated pulled back, smirking.

 

“I lost that one, too.”

 

Yuri was confused, so Otabek went on, “I was going to see which one of us went in for the first kiss.”

 

 _Oh, so he felt it too,_ Yuri thought dreamily, not able to stop the wide smile that split his face, and the butterflies that stuttered to life in his chest.  

 

They’d spent the night after that talking, and at some point decided that it would be hilarious if they stood up Viktor and Yuuri’s pair skate with a guest appearance by Otabek in Yuri’s exhibition skate.

 

They planned the whole thing out, and at some point fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed, not touching, but arching towards each other like magnets fighting their pull.

  


***

  


After the exhibition skate, Yuri made a decision that would haunt him for years.

 

He pulled Otabek into a conference room and kissed him, long and slow.  They stayed like that for what felt like forever, Otabek teasingly stroking his bare skin under his loose tank top, lips feathering down his neck.

 

It was a perfect moment.  It didn’t last forever, and they didn’t go farther than that, but when the had to leave for interviews, Yuri felt the loss in his gut, a sucker punch, but they had each other’s numbers and continuously texted throughout the day, throughout the night, and they’d found a bathroom to make out in for a while before Otabek hopped on his flight back home.

 

A day later Yuri was back in his own home, and his grandfather had sent a courier over with an invitation to the house.

 

Talia and him put on their best.  Yuri’s heart was hammering in his chest.  It screamed: _he knows he knows he knows._

 

The dinner had started out like any.  His mother plugging away at Ode to Joy, his grandmother and grandfather complementing Yuri’s performance, until his grandfather said, “We’re going to have a statue commissioned for you on your nineteenth birthday.”

 

Yuri set his glass down, trying to puzzle out what he meant by that.  “Why nineteen?”

 

“It gives you time to… adjust.  I fear that if I have it commissioned now, there will be certain… aspects of you that will be set in the stone.”

 

 _Aspects_.

 

“It’s a simple request, really.  Just stay in good standing with us for another three years and the statue will go up in the hall, where your father’s was.  You can pay for his sins with your good behavior.”

 

His mother had switched the music then, a few tears sliding down her cheeks.

 

That’s when he realized that she _knew_.  There was no other reason she would switch the music.  They had told her what was going to happen.

 

She had brought him there anyway.

 

The blood in his veins ran with ice.

 

“I want to make this very clear.  We won’t be having you following in your father’s footsteps.  You won’t become one of them, I won’t allow it.”

 

His voice was echoing around the room with the music, oddly commingling in the air in a cacophony of anguish.

 

“Whatever that stunt was that you pulled off during the exhibition skate, whoever that boy was, you will never speak to him again.  He is just a phase.  If you so much as give an inkling that you have given into your… preoccupations, your mother will no longer get rent money.  You will no longer be entitled to your inheritance.  I have a thousand eyes in this city and they can make sure that you keep on the _straight_ and narrow.”

 

The laugh that burst out of Yuri was inappropriate, he knew, and his grandfather threw his glass, and it shattered over the floor to the left of Yuri, making his freeze in fear.  It was uncanny, how his grandmother screamed about the hardwood, how his mother kept playing, if a little faster, and everything kept going on like his world hadn’t shattered, as well.

 

He excused himself and threw up in the bathroom.

 

When he came back, his mother was in the hall with their coats.  “We aren’t to stay for dinner.  They’ll have us back in two weeks and we are not to discuss the matter further.”

 

Yuri had taken his coat, and sat in the backseat of the car, fingers shaking as he texted Viktor.

 

“Mama, can you have him drop me off at the cafe?  I’m meeting a friend.”

 

She nodded shortly, not looking him in the eye.  It was likely that she would never _really_ look him in the eyes again.  There would always be some part of her that would be afraid to see his father.

 

When he stepped out and the car pulled away, Viktor came out of the cafe, looking concerned.

 

“Yurio, are you…”

 

The younger skater collapsed, shaking like a leaf, sobbing into his arms.  People were staring and he just _didn’t care_.  At some point he managed to get Yuri to walk down the street to their apartment.  He’d tucked him into the couch, setting Makkachin the task of guarding him, whispering over him until late into the night.  

 

Yuuri was still in Japan before moving, so Viktor fell asleep in the loveseat, cramped up but comfortable.

 

Yuri stepped gently over Makkachin at three in the morning, brushing over her fur with his left hand, dialing a number, feeling completely and utterly _blank._

 

“Yura?  It’s the middle of the night.  What’s…”

 

“It’s over.  I’m not gay.  It was a fluke.  I’m sorry.”

 

There was silence on the other line before a rushed, “Yuri, what’s going on?  You sound really weird.  Do you need me to come visit?  Did something happen with your family?  Talk to me…”

 

“Bye, Beka.  Don’t call me again.”

 

He pressed end.

 

The other skater had called him ten times in the next four days, until Yuri posted a picture of himself with a girl on Instagram, half dressed and drunk at a party.

 

It was staged, of course, and his grandfather chastised him for being so lewd, but that was the end of it.  He swore he saw the older man’s chest puff out in pride

 

_Present Day_

 

Yuri picked up his phone and when he saw that Emma was calling him back.

 

“ _I’m sorry Yuri I was in work.  Do you need me?”_

 

_“Where are you?”_

 

_“Just outside the restaurant.”_

 

_“I can meet you.”_

 

They quickly discussed location, deciding that a park would be a good place.  Yuri fell onto a memorial bench under an evergreen tree, staring blankly ahead at the joggers and the toddlers both scrambling to keep moving.

 

He didn’t even realize that Emma had arrived before her fingers brushed his cheek, sighing.  “What happened with your grandfather?”

 

“Want to come to dinner sometime soon?”

 

Her lips thinned, and she sat down next to him, taking his hand.  “You can’t keep this up forever, Yuri.  I’ll help you as long as I can, but I don’t know if I have it in me to maintain the lie.”

 

Yuri rested his head in his hands.  “I fucking hate all of them.”

 

Emma squeezed his hand.  “You’re doing this for your mother, so she doesn’t have to stop playing.  It’s noble what you’re doing.  I just don’t know how big of a role I can play.”

 

“You’ve done so much already,” he choked out.  Then, quickly, “I wanted us to work out.”

 

“Me, too.  We both know it wouldn’t have.  You’re still hung up on someone, I'm guessing…”

 

He chuckled darkly then.  “I called him.”

 

Emma’s jewel-green eyes widened.  “You didn’t…”

 

“I told him I loved him.”

 

Her mouth fell open, and a couple walked past, lost in their own world as she said, “You _did_ , you… what happens now?”

 

“Nothing.  He hates my guts.  I have a string of texts proving that.  Now I just wallow, like a _loser_ ,” Yuri got up and started pacing, feeling the alcohol start to ebb away and real panic set in.  “I fucked up.”

 

Really, involving Emma at all had been a terrible idea.  He’d kept it hush hush to all his rink mates and on social media so as not to rub it in Otabek’s face, but to his mother and grandparents it was all he talked about.  

 

He’d been honest with Emma from the second date that she was just a ruse, and she’d agreed to go along with it as long as Yuri gave them a fair shot.

 

“I’m still here, you know.  I’ll stick by you.  I just can’t be your girlfriend.”

 

“How about my fake girlfriend, for at least a few weeks until this all dies down?”

 

Smiling tightly, she adjusted her glasses.  “I can do that, but only for a few weeks.  Do I have to wear something stuffy?”

 

“No, my grandparents are modern.  Just wear something nice.  I’ll let you know the dates.”

 

They sat there for a while, trading small talk, until she had to leave to head to band practice, and Yuri sat on the park bench a little longer, until his masochistic side came out.

 

He pulled up the screenshots he’d saved in a special folder.

 

_O: I’m worried I’m calling Viktor I need to know you’re okay._

 

_O: Viktor didn’t know about us? What the hell?  Am I your dirty little secret?_

 

_O: That came out wrong, I’m sorry._

 

_O: Please respond.  I’m going crazy over here._

 

_O: Mila says that she thought we were just a publicity stunt._

 

_O: Why didn’t you tell anyone?_

 

_O: Are you ashamed of me?_

 

Then, another screenshot, the night after the post

 

_O: I see.  You’re going to play straight boy._

 

_O: Sorry to have influenced you with my gay ways._

 

_O: I really thought you were better than this.  Viktor and Yuuri are your heroes._

 

_O: Call me, so I can yell at you._

 

_O: Call me so I can forgive you._

 

_O: I miss you…_

 

_Y: Stop texting me.  I don’t want to hear from you._

 

_O: Fine.  You’re a fucking terrible person._

 

_O: Rot in hell_

 

It didn’t leave much to the imagination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. So that was harsh.
> 
> I promise it gets better... eventually.
> 
> Stay tuned for more! I also love feedback like Yuuri loves Katsudon


	4. Lord Femor Told Me So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri deals with the emotional ramifications of the night before with his grandparents, and realizes just how powerful his grandfather is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all you people!
> 
> This chapter is a doozy. There's a lot of emotional moments. Our poor Yuri is in quite the sticky situation, and he won't be getting out of it any time soon
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: homophobia, abuse, neglect, abandonment, violence, dissociation. Yeah this chapter is rough, but it's necessary to set up next chapter. If this fic makes you feel some type of way, please reach out to a loved one. Also, go to your local Michael's with said loved one. Purchase a tiny treasure chest in the wood section. Paint the chest. Write down inspiration and loving quotes. Open the box whenever you feel sad. Or, just do what I did and put your D&D dice in there. 
> 
> I don't own Yuri! On Ice
> 
> “When we are happy, we are always good, but when we are good, we are not always happy,” -Oscar Wilde

Nikolai Plisetsky wakes up every morning at six thirty and puts on the coffee.  He then proceeds to collect the daily paper, turn on the news, and read for exactly fifteen minutes until the coffee is ready.

 

However, on this particular day, when he went over to his couch to sit down, he found his grandson sprawled out on it, wearing a suit, of all things.

 

The poor boy’s blonde hair was in tangles, his shirt was half unbuttoned, and he had a line of drool stretching from his mouth to the cushion.

 

Grunting, he leaned over the boy, saying, “Yuratchka, what are you doing here?”

 

The boy sat up quickly, looking around him in a stupor.  “Shit…”   
  


“Language,” Nikolai admonished, eyeing the boy warily.  “I always love seeing you, but why are you here, and in a suit, no less?  You’ll rip it.”

 

Yuri finally blinked into full consciousness.  He remembered wandering around for a long time, until long after nightfall, then remembered getting home and standing outside his and his mother’s apartment, where the woman was still playing piano, and Yuri couldn’t listen anymore.  

 

He’d wandered upstairs in a stupor, dug the spare key out from the potted plant, and let himself in, collapsing onto the couch.

 

“I, um, got locked out.”

 

Nikolai narrowed his eyes.  “Your mother was playing until three in the morning.”

 

Yuri shrugged, standing and cracking his neck, trying his best not to show his grandfather his face.

 

“Yuratchka, tell me what’s wrong.”

 

Weighing his options, he finally asked tentatively, “How long have Edgar and Natasha been paying our bills?”

 

Nikolai paused while pouring his coffee, sighing.  “I was wondering when you’d start asking about that.”

 

“I just don’t remember a time… before.  Dad left when I was too little.”

 

“Edgar has been helping your mother and I out since your father left.”

 

Yuri’s ears pricked up at that, his whole face dissolving into panic.  “He… he pays your rent, too?”

 

“Yura, you know how my back is.  I haven’t been able to work for years.  It’s not like your mother can support you with… the way she is,” he left the explanation hanging, but Yuri’s mind was racing.

 

_ If he stops paying for mom, he’ll stop paying for grandpa, too. _

 

_ Shit, this keeps getting worse. _

 

_ I’m… so stuck. _

  
  


***

  
  


Viktor fixed Yuri with a smile that could blind a bat when the teen wandered into the rink an hour late to practice.

 

“Good morning, Yuri!  You’re impeccably late!  I almost went home to make love to my husband because I had  _ so much free time _ .”

 

“Don’t be gross,” Yuri grumbled, stepping out onto the ice. “I’m sorry.  I had some family stuff.”

 

“Excuses don’t help you land your quad flip,” Viktor’s smile was fixed onto his face like an amusement park automaton.  

 

Yuri shivered in his t-shirt, but knew that his body would warm up once he started moving.  He immediately started doing basic figures.

 

They worked until everyone else piled into the rink, making Yuri feel normal for the first time in a few days.  Having everyone around him, laughing like usual, making fun of each other like usual, drew a calm over Yuri’s mind that made him smile.

 

No matter the threats, his grandfather couldn’t touch him here.

 

It wasn’t until most of the way through training, when Yuri landed his quad flip for the first time and did a victory lap around the rink, that he remembered:

 

His coach has fees.

 

Those fees get paid by…

 

The room started spinning.  It was too much, now.  His hands were everywhere.  There was no way out, no way around this forced marionette dance for the rest of his life, his grandfather pulling the strings, and him playing the part to keep himself from being cut.

 

Yuri rammed into the side of the rink, leaning onto the divider, tunnel vision threatening to close in around him.

 

“Yurio, it’s not time for a break yet…”

 

Yuri turned to Viktor, screaming, “That is  _ not  _ my name, and I’m making it my break time.”

 

He rushed to the entrance, wandering off and throwing on his skate guards.  One of the most annoying aspects of walking around in skates, off balance and awkward, was that it didn’t allow for angrily stomping away.  It was more like an angry tight-rope walk.

 

Yuri crashed into Yakov’s office.  The man was going through paperwork when he sat down in front of his desk, looking at him seriously.

 

“Yuratchka, why aren’t you practicing?!”

 

Yuri was fiddling with the front of his t-shirt.  “My grandfather… he pays your fees, right?”

 

Yakov froze what he was doing, putting down his pen.  “Yes.  We meet once a month to discuss your progress.”

 

Yuri hands fisted in his shirt. “How long has this been happening?”

 

“I’ve been your coach for twelve years, Yuri.  Surely you knew this?”

 

He’d thought it, assumed it, but he didn’t seek confirmation until now.  He didn’t  _ want _ to know until now.

 

His tunnel vision was becoming worse, staring at the pen on Yakov’s desk.

 

_ His hands are everywhere. _

 

_ I can’t… this is my life.  Forever.   _

 

_ The rink isn’t even safe anymore. _

 

“I want to take more sponsorships.”

 

Yakov’s eyes narrowed.  “I don’t think that’s wise, Yuri.  Your grandfather is a very powerful man.  He won’t take kindly to you spitting on his help.”

 

Yuri thought, for a moment, that Yakov’s eyes were conveying something else, something deeper, but as quickly as he saw it, it was gone, popping like a balloon his hopes that Yakov could help him.

 

“Fine.  Fuck you for being his bitch, old man.”

 

Yuri threw the chair back, and it crashed into a filing cabinet.  Yakov didn’t even flinch, watching Yuri go with sadness in his eyes.

 

When he got back out to the rink, he ignored Viktor’s impatient words and ran through his program once.  

 

“Yuri, you’ve completely lost your agape.  Refocus.  Remember your inspirations for agape.  Your grandfather, for example…”

 

Yuri had been about to enter a jump, and though he knew on some level that Viktor didn’t mean Edgar, he meant Nikolai, it threw him enough that he crashed onto the ice, sending pain through his still injured hand.

 

He screamed out in agony, though his aching hand wasn't the source.  He was angry, but mostly he was just exhausted.  He was exhausted of playing his part.  He was exhausted of being constantly afraid 

 

He was at his breaking point

 

“Yuri!” Mila yelled, skating over to him and kneeling next to him and touching his back gently.

 

Viktor was there in a flash.  “What hurts, Yuri?”

 

Everything.

 

He screamed again, pounding the ice with his fists

 

There was ringing in his ears.  He got up, shakily, and people were trying to talk to him, trying to grab him, but he wasn't registering it, skating slowly towards the locker rooms.  

 

He felt Viktor grab him, and he cringed, pulling from the older skater’s grasp, finally meeting the concerned blue eyes of the Russian, lips drawn together.

 

“... day off, Yuri.  Get some sleep.”

 

“What?” Yuri snapped.

 

Viktor sighed.  “Go home and take the day off.  Get some sleep.  I’ll deal with Yakov.  You shouldn’t be practicing like this…”

 

“No,” Yuri’s mind flashed to going home, of having his mother play the piano, endlessly begging Yuri not to leave her, that she’d break, that the piano was the only thing keeping her afloat and he was the only thing keeping her musical career from dying in her eyes like a supernova.

 

“ _ We don’t make enough to pay the bills.  Your grandfather pays those, and your sponsorships helps with other expenses.  I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have you.” _

 

He looked off behind Viktor, and he gasped, seeing his mother standing there, talking to someone, leaning against the wall for support, her gleaming white-blonde hair falling in her eyes and brushing against her dress.

 

He rubbed his eyes, because obviously he was mistaken, but...

 

She was wearing the same thing as last night.

 

Viktor furrowed his brow and followed Yuri’s stunned line of sight, his mouth falling open as well.  

 

“Is that your…”

 

“Yeah,” Yuri said softly, skating over to her.  His hold on reality was starting to crinkle.  With the stress of his grandfather, and his mother leaving the house for a reason other than dinner or rehearsal, nothing fit right.  Everything was just a few centimeters off, the world tilted on its axis.

 

“Mama…” Yuri said when he got closer, and her dreamy voice stuttered to a halt, and she glided over to the divider where Yuri was waiting, open mouthed and gaping.

 

Her unfocused eyes were gazing slightly to his right, and he knew without looking that she must be gazing at Viktor.

 

Her hand came out without any warning, and he felt the stinging slap on his face, collective gasps from everyone at the rink.

 

_ “ _ You filthy fairy how could you leave me… _ ” _

 

Yuri’s brain was working at half speed, but he managed to whisper out in a fit of panic, “Mama, have you taken your medication…”

 

“Filthy cheater.  How many men have you brought to our bed?”

 

Yuri was so worried about her that he’d forgotten to step away, and she had her hands in his hair, clutching at the braid he’d put in this morning.  “Look what you’ve done to our son…”

 

The pain of the hair pulling made Yuri see stars, and he felt a second pair of hands, and someone was tugging him by the waist back as her deft fingers released his hair, and he groaned, because she must have practiced much later than three am, because her fingers were chapped and bleeding, and he could feel the stickiness in his blonde hair, standing in stark contrast to the scarlet.

 

Viktor had grabbed Yuri by the waist and pulled him away, and Mila had disentangled Talia.  She was holding her by the hands, yelling at her to stop, before twisting her arm against the divider.  Talia Plisetsky was still screaming, though.

 

“You and your whore boyfriend can rot in hell, Mikhail!  Look what you’ve done to our son!”

 

Yuri hadn’t realized that he had been getting farther away from his mother before Viktor’s fingers tightened on his, leading him towards the locker room, not speaking.

 

Everyone else in the rink had scattered like mice, trying to get away from the fray.  Georgi was helping Mila keep her down, now, talking hurriedly on the phone.

 

Then the door to the locker room slammed shut, and Yuri was being moved through the eerily quiet space, but he realized that he wasn’t looking where he was going and almost tripped over a bag on the floor, falling into Viktor’s arms.

 

The shaking, how long had he been shaking?  The room, he couldn’t see it, could just hear Viktor’s calm, measured tone, saying something about washing, and in a blink he was in front of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror.

 

He knew, when he saw himself, that he must be asleep.  This must be a nightmare. The blood spread through his hair, the thumbprint on his forehead, a single bead dripping down into his eyebrow.  The braid, half out, loose hair streaming out of it like a very odd sprinkler.

 

“Come now,  _ kotyenok _ , put your face by the water.”

 

He couldn’t move, though. In dreams like this, he would put his face down and be drowned.  In dreams like this, he needed to wake himself up with a shock…

 

...but the panic had already set in, bone deep, reverberating throughout him like a live wire.

 

He should have woken up by now, gasping in bed.

 

It will all just be a crazy dream.  Mama would sing him back to sleep, delicate fingers working at his back, and he would feel safe and warm and…

 

...maybe  _ that _ was the dream.

 

Oh.  _  Oh. _

 

When he came back to reality, Viktor was by the entrance to the locker room, talking with police.  His voice was heavy with emotion, but Yuri couldn’t really hear what he was saying.

 

Someone, at some point, got him out of his skates.  They put his street sneakers on, bundled him up in a sweatshirt, and he was in a car, someone who he trusted was talking low over him, and maybe it was Viktor but he couldn’t see.  

 

Then he was in a bed, and he instinctively curled into the covers, hand coming up to his heart, drifting for hours.

 

First, he was at his senior debut of the Grand Prix Final.  His mother, as usual, wouldn’t leave the apartment to come see him.  She hadn’t left except to practice her piano in the three weeks since she’d moved to St. Petersburg.  She didn’t unpack any of her boxes.  The apartment he had to himself suddenly had Talia, and she sat at the piano for days on end.

 

He remembered finding her, fingers bleeding over the keys, having to scrub the ivory down with soaps that wouldn’t damage it, disassembling and reassembling it.  He remembered how he would always have bloody fingerprints on himself, from her wanting to leave her mark.

 

At some point, Yuri felt a rustling in the room, and a hand reached out and brushed his hair back.  His eyes were open, and had been, but for the first time in hours he could  _ see _ .

 

Yuuri’s face was illuminated by the light flooding in from the hallway.  His eyes were sad, lips were drawn, and he realized the other man was whispering in Japanese.

 

Yuri had picked up a little of the other man’s language through the years, and he could pick out a word here or there, but mostly just  _ sleep _ and  _ sorry _ and  _ love _ .

 

Yuri grumbled, and Yuuri’s breath caught, kneeling in front of the other skater.  “Hey, Yura, are you with us again?”

 

Yuri’s eyes squinted.  Yuuri never called him Yura, it was something that only a few close family members and Yakov and Viktor did.     

 

“Can you answer me?”

 

“Stop treating me like an invalid,” Yuri snapped, sitting up too fast and feeling all the blood rush from his head, the world getting dark around the edges.

 

“Slowly,” Yuuri said softly, and Yuri realized that he was in Yuuri and Viktor’s apartment, in their bed.

 

“What the hell…” Yuri shot up, having to lean on the nightstand from how weak and dizzy he felt.  “How did I…”

 

“We drove you.  You should know, though, Yuri, your grandfather sent a driver over.  He wants you to go to his house immediately.”

 

_ No no no no… _

 

Yuri backed against the wall, everything closing in around him, until Yuuri rushed over, muttering, “We sent him away, don’t worry, but he’ll be back.  You’re safe for now.”

 

_ Safe _ .  The word rang around in his head, a lie.  

 

He had never felt safe before, never in his life.  Someone was always watching him, judging him, hating his decisions…

 

“Talk to me Yuri,” Yuuri breathed, “What… what happened with your mother.  Viktor won’t talk about it…”

 

Right, Yuuri wasn’t at the rink this morning.  He had a doctor’s appointment.  

 

“My mother forgot her meds,” Yuri sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands.  “She’s been out of the hospital for all of two years and she’s off her meds.”

 

The older man settled in front of Yuri.  “Tell me about her.  What was wrong with her?”

 

“She… she was a singer,” Yuri started, “That also played the piano.  The fame might have gotten to her, or the drugs, but when I was three she started playing nonstop, for hours on end, never leaving the house…”

 

Yuri’s hands were shaking, his fingers massaging his temples.  

 

“My father started leaving for days at a time, trying to get out of there, until one day my mother realized where he was going.  Hotels, with a man named Yustev.  They’d been seeing each other for over a year.”

 

Yuri’s eyes met Yuuri’s, brown looking almost black in the darkness of the room.  “That was when she had a breakdown.  My father stayed with me for a year after my mother was hospitalized, but he realized he wanted a fresh start.  So he left with Yustev.  They’re happily married in Paris now.  I get a postcard every few months.”

 

Yuuri had tears in his eyes.  “That’s…”

 

“Grandpa took me in after that.  Then, when I moved to St. Petersburg, my grandpa stayed in Moscow where my mother was hospitalized.

 

“Mama was released right before the 2016 Grand Prix.  She came to live with me, and so did grandpa, right upstairs.  She auditioned for a local orchestra and got in with flying colors.  She was… holding it together.  Until, I guess, the last two nights, I didn’t sleep at home.  She probably refused to take her meds, or wouldn’t get off the piano bench long enough to do it…”

 

His chest felt damp.  Why was his shirt wet?  When he reached up to touch his face, he realized he was crying, and tears had soaked the front of his sweatshirt.

 

They sat like that for a while, Yuuri speechless.

 

“What… happened today?”

 

Yuri recoiled at the memory, ducking his head into his knees, which he hugged to his chest.  “She came to the rink, in the same dress she’d worn to dinner the night before.  Her fingers were bleeding.  She must have been playing for so long… and she thought I was my father.”

 

Yuri offered a watery, dark smile.  “You could imagine how that went.”

 

Yuuri nodded, eyes searching.  “What… what about your grandfather?  I didn’t realize that Nikolai had a driver…”

 

Yuri snorted at that.  “No, not that grandfather.  My father’s father.  Edgar Dorokhov.  The one who pays all my bills.”

 

Yuuri was quiet for a moment, before muttering, “Are… you close?”

 

The younger skater snorted.  “If by close, you mean he’s been controlling my life since he found out that my father wouldn’t be inheriting their fortune, because he needed an eligible heir, then yeah.  Close.”

 

There was a soft padding of feet, and Viktor popped his head in, turning on the light.

 

Yuri hissed, and Viktor started, puzzled.  “Why are you on the floor?”

 

“Give us a minute, okay?”  Yuuri asked Yuri quietly, and the teen nodded, closing his eyes from the pounding brightness.

 

He heard them whisper outside the door, and after a few moments Viktor was cursing, then he was kneeling in front of Yuri, fingers gently moving Yuri’s own from his arms, where his nails were leaving half-moon marks in the skin.

 

“Yuri, we need you to tell us if you feel safe going with your grandfather.”

 

The question seemed so odd.  No one had ever asked him that before.  Did he feel safe with his mother?  No.  Did he feel safe with his grandparents?  No.  The only person he felt safe with was Nikolai, and even then, he knew that he would side with his mother eventually.

 

“Yuri, the driver has been sitting outside the apartment for three hours.  He just came to the door and told us that the police are coming to take you to his house.  We can try to get you somewhere safe, but you need to tell us…”

 

A flash, a memory.  Of his grandfather’s face, resolute as he said, “ _ I have eyes everywhere…” _

 

He thought of Yuuri and Viktor, whom his grandfather despised.  He could make their lives a living hell if he wanted.  Yuri felt sick to his stomach as he whispered, with no emotion, “I’ll be safe there.  Don’t worry.”

 

Viktor’s eyes widened, panicked, as Yuri got up.  “You don’t…”

 

“I do, though,” Yuri responded, not meeting either of their eyes as he collected his phone and training bag and left the apartment, the other skaters gaping in his wake.

  
  


***

  
  


When he walked in the door, he heard the haunting piano music, and moved to peek his head in the parlor.

 

When he saw the scene he dropped his bag.

 

His mother was at the piano, tears streaming down her cheeks, grandmother hovering behind her in her pajamas, watching the entryway with a cold expression.

 

“Mama, what are you…”

 

He heard footsteps behind him, and his grandfather appeared in the entryway, a glass of vodka in his hand.

 

“She called us from the jail.  She was arrested for assault on you, of all people.  We cleared it up straight away.”

 

Yuri nodded, dazed, and wandered over to her.  She wasn't looking.  There were bandages on her fingers, and she was playing Hallelujah, the Jeff Buckley version.

 

her eyes were scrunched shut.  Yuri’s hands were shaking.

 

“We’ll let you two stay here tonight.  Tomorrow we’ll have Pavel drive you home.”

 

Yuri nodded, emotion draining out of him and dropping to the floor like slime.

 

The butler walked past Yuri, carrying his bag.  “Your bed is done up, Master Yuri.”

 

They knew he was coming.  They had the bed made up.  They had staged mama to play as he walked in.  He wondered how long she’d been there, how long he’d made her wait.

 

He wandered over to her, and she had tears gathering on the keys, blood starting to soak through the bandages.  She was still in the same ethereal outfit, but it was sullied from sitting in a cell.

 

“Mama,” he whispered, but she squeezed her eyes shut tighter.  

 

His grandmother tsk-ed him.  “Go to bed, Yuratchka.  Your mother needs time to work through this.”

 

It was there that he saw them.  Invisible, initially undetectable, but there were strings coming off his mother.  His grandparents conducting her to play like a puppet.  The ends of the strings were buried deep, beyond his reach, in her like barbed hooks.

 

He drifted through the echoing house, following the butler, feeling the loss of something that he couldn't place.

 

When they reached his room, he stared around, seeing that it was a simple sleek black and white geometric design.  He slid down to the floor, empty.  

 

“I’m sorry, mama.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear it gets better from here on out. You have to hit rock bottom before the world starts to make sense again, sometimes.
> 
> I also love feedback like Yakov loves yelling. Let me know what you think of this fic and make my whole week!


	5. That Damned Sybil Vane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma is faced with a wonderful possibility that may have negative consequences for Yuri. Later, Yuri introduces Emma to his grandparents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> This chapter started off really shitty until I realized I was telling it from the wrong perspective. It will be told from Emma's POV, and will provide relevant insight into her life as well as Yuri's situation.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: manipulation and homophobia are big themes of this fic and play a role in this chapter. If this fic makes you feel some type of way, reach out to a loved one. Go to the store with the loved one and pick out a butternut squash, light cream, canned pumpkin, and vegetable stock. Chop up butternut squash into cubes. It takes like an hour and your hands get all sticky and it's wonderful. Proceed to bake cubes at 400 for 45 minutes, lightly coated in cinnamon and brown sugar. Then, add all ingredients into the pot and use an immersion blender to create soup. If you don't own an immersion blender, buy one. It's never done my anxiety wrong.
> 
> I will stick by my "just make soup" method of coping until the day I die.
> 
> As usual, I don't own Yuri! on Ice, though I would love to make butternut squash soup for those who do.
> 
> “She is all the great heroines of the world in one. She is more than an individual. I love her, and I must make her love me. I want to make Romeo jealous. I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter, and grow sad. I want a breath of our passion to stir dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain,” -Oscar Wilde

 

Emma was strumming her guitar, humming along to the tune her band mates were playing until it was her part to come in.

 

There was something about playing the guitar that soothed her like nothing else would.  Even singing had its limits, but stroking to a melody brought her someplace magical, some ethereal plane past the touch of anyone else.

 

After practice, her band mates were chatting about their gig the next week.  They were playing at a small summer music festival, and the band leader, Peter, was stressed and his patience was running thin.

 

“Emma, you need to hit that note sooner.  It’s clashing with the bass when you don't.”

 

She wanted to scream that his bass part had come in too early, but knowing Peter, that wouldn't help matters.  “Got it.”

 

“Serena, you’re driving over the instruments, right?”

 

Their drummer nodded in response, already looking at her phone.  

 

“Stefan, don't forget your Rockin’ Chair.”

 

The keyboardist nodded, knocking on the wheelchair he was currently in.  “This one doesn't hold a candle to the one we decorated.”

 

It had been in a fit of anger after Stefan’s accident.  The whole band was angry at the drunk driver for taking away Stefan’s ability to walk. So, they bought him a wheelchair for gigs, and decorated it in neon paints and spikes and flowers. They nicknamed it “Rockin’ Chair” and quickly crowned it the honorary fifth member of the band.

 

“Alright then, we’re out,” Peter and Serena waved goodbye, and Stefan yawned.

 

“You want to stay for dinner?”

 

Emma smiled, and they wandered out of the living area of Stefan’s apartment and into the beautiful kitchen.

 

It was a bittersweet win when Stefan got a quarter of a million dollars from the very drunk, if very rich, man who hurt him.  Six months ago he bought his own apartment, and the band had christened it their unofficial headquarters.  

 

Stefan had the whole place outfitted for him.  The counters and stove were low enough for him to work at, and he started pulling things from the fridge.

 

Emma got to work setting the table and poured them both glasses of wine, helping put together the meal.

 

It was spinach ravioli in vodka sauce with a side of broccoli, and Emma’s mouth watered smelling their concoction.

 

They were soon sitting at opposite ends of his kitchen table, lamenting Peter’s nerves, until Stefan said softly, “How are you and that skater?”

 

Emma almost choked on her wine.  “We, um, things didn’t work out.  We’re staying friends.”

 

“Right,” Stefan said softly, poking at one of the heads of broccoli with his fork, “That will work out.”

 

Emma thought back to Yuri, of how hung up he was on his ex.  “I doubt that things will get complicated.  We’re very honest about what’s going on.”

 

Stefan’s face softened suddenly, dark brown eyes meeting hers over the table.  “I’m sorry if I sounded harsh.  That’s really cool that you guys are able to do that.”

 

Stefan wasn’t conventionally pretty.  His raven black hair was down to his shoulders and was usually tied back with a ponytail during performances.  His face was sharp, all angles and cheekbones, small, dark eyes peering out from unusually long lashes.

 

Up until a year ago, Stefan had been skin and bones.  However, since his accident and the physical therapy, his body was more toned now.  His arms were bulky with strong muscle, because he didn’t like asking for help, and would rather lift himself around, quite literally.

 

There was a bustle from the door, and Stefan's older sister was inside, her smile wide.  “Oh, Emma!  It’s good to see you!”

 

As quickly as she came in she grabbed six things, popped a ravioli in her mouth, and was out again.  

 

“Her boyfriend is introducing her to his family tonight,” Stefan explained to Emma’s questioning look.

 

Emma couldn’t help but blush, remembering her promise to Yuri.  He had called her two weeks ago, explaining in a monotone voice that they needed to both be at dinner on June 20th, which is now tomorrow.

 

She hadn’t heard from Yuri otherwise until…

 

_ Three days ago _

 

The skater had wandered into the cafe Emma’s band was performing at, blonde hair braided back on one side, eyes unfocused.

 

When Emma hopped off the stage, he’d kissed her cheek, smiling fakely.  

 

“You were great.”

 

“Obviously,” she said, blushing a little bit at the praise.  She was still working through her feelings for Yuri, and had mostly moved past it, but sometimes her crush would sneak back in with a vengeance.

 

_ He’s two years younger than you _ , she would say to herself  _he’s in love with somebody else._

 

That worked, most of the time.

 

“I wanted to talk to you.  How long is the break?”

 

Emma looked back at the band.  Stefan and Peter were having a lively debate about whether the bass or keyboard was more essential to a band structure, and Serena was busying herself putting new battery-operated string lights on Rockin’ Chair.

 

“Peter said ten minutes, which means twenty,” she said easily, pushing her glasses back up her nose, jewel-green eyes peeking up at him.  “Let’s get a table.”

 

The cafe had two levels, and the bottom level was full of people who came for the show.  A local singer had taken the stage during the interim, keeping up a steady hum of soft rock to fill the silence while the band recharged.

 

The top floor was quieter, more of a loft, and a few people had settled themselves against the railing, legs dangling, watching the performance.  There were a few smaller tables available, and Yuri selected one closest to the windows.

 

They sat down, and Yuri was staring down at his coffee, sucking on his words.

 

“What is it?”

 

“You always know,” he said with a smile.

 

“I haven’t heard from you in over a week.  It’s been a little worrying.”

 

Emma adjusted her knee-length dress so that the fabric was smoothed out over her legs, trying to find something to do with her hands while Yuri found his words.

 

“I’m sorry.  Things got… bad.”

 

Protectiveness welled up in her, and her fingers had balled up the fabric she had just smoothed out.  

 

“Who?”

 

“Mother,” he said softly, finger tracing the top of his mug.  “She had a breakdown and attacked me at the rink thinking I was my father.  She was arrested, but grandfather bailed her out, so now we’re just coexisting in the same apartment.  She’d pretending like nothing ever happened and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

 

Yuri rarely talked about his mother’s condition, but she knew from meeting the woman a few times that there was something frail and off about her.  She had a temper.

 

“Have you talked to Yuuri and Viktor at all?”

 

At that, Yuri snorted.  “No.  Grandfather’s driver takes me to and from practice now.  I’m essentially on lock-down.  Other than practice, it’s understood that I’m not allowed to speak to them.”

 

Yuri’s ocean eyes gazed at her, and she could see the fear there.  

 

“I’m worried about you coming on Thursday now,” he said honestly, “I’m starting to realize what a complicated web Edgar has weaved, and I don’t want you tangled in it.”

 

He was trying to protect her, she knew.  He was worried about someone he cared about being hurt the way he was being hurt.

 

However, Emma didn’t have many people left that she cared about.  Her parents were essentially nonexistent, and she had no other family to speak of.  The people in her life that she held close, like the band and her close friends, were her family.  Yuri was included in that group, no matter how complicated their relationship was.

 

“I committed to doing this for you.  I want to help.  Let me,” her fingers sought his out on the table, and he took her hand, squeezing it and not meeting her eyes.

 

_ Present Day _

 

Stefan and her had put on a movie after dinner, when she felt fingertips start to graze her leg.

 

The sensation made her shiver, a good shiver, and she hadn’t realized how long she had been waiting for him to touch her.

 

Her legs were draped over his on the couch, and he was tracing lazy spirals on her shin, eyes not leaving the television.

 

She gazed up at him, whispering, “Stefan,” and when he looked down at her, she smiled shyly.  “What are you doing?”

 

His cheeks rushed red, pulling his hand back.  “Sorry, I must have gotten my signals crossed…”

 

Laughing a little, she pulled back her legs.  She got back up on her knees and straddled him, making his eyes widen in recognition.

 

“I wasn’t saying to stop.  Just maybe focus your attention elsewhere.”

 

She coaxed his fingers into hers, guiding his hands to rest on her hips.  When he looked up at Emma, her bright green eyes were watching him intently, a small smirk playing on her lips.

 

He leaned forward a little, and she pressed down, lips feathering on his once, twice, three times, slowly easing into making out, his hands wandering to those places she had labeled  _elsewhere_ , making music on each other’s bodies the way that they had been meaning to for far too long.

 

***

 

Emma shimmied into her sparkling dress, the one she had worn the day that Yuri had met her, and gazed at herself in the mirror, shrugging on a small shawl and popping in her long, dangling silver earrings.

 

Her roommate Lena looked her up and down appreciatively.  “Are you planning on confusing that poor boy more?”

 

Emma rolled her eyes.  “This is my nicest dress, and his grandparents are rich and snotty.  I have to dress to impress.  Plus, it’s a free meal, which on my budget is never a bad thing.”

 

Her roommate was clad in sweats, eating a bowl of cereal as she watched Emma get ready in front of the bent full-length mirror at the center of their rundown apartment.  Their living space was currently littered with a straightening iron, a few other dresses that were strewn this way and that, and make-up was kind of being thrown everywhere.

 

“How am I supposed to watch a the Buffy reboot tonight if I can’t even find the tv?”  Lena picked up a strapless bra and threw it on the floor so she could settle onto their loveseat.

 

“Magic,” Emma responded tersely.  Lena and her had lived together for over a year, and were comfortable enough to act like sisters.  “I’m off.”

 

“Wait!  You still haven’t told me what happened with you and sexy broody boy.”

 

Emma closed her eyes and remembered the feeling of Stefan underneath her, but quickly shook her head.  “No one can know about that for a few weeks at least.  The only people that know are you, me, Stefan, and his sister.  We’re going to keep it that way until things with Yuri blow over.  Got it?”

 

Her roommate nodded glumly. “So no sexy details?”

 

“Give it a few weeks and I’ll draw you diagrams, girl, but be patient.”

 

Emma picked up her purse and blew out of the apartment. She descended the stairs and blinked a few times before she took in the sleek black car, probably worth several thousand more than her entire net worth, humming outside the door.

 

Yuri climbed out in a sleek navy suit, adjusting his silver tie and smiling at her, eyes scanning her body.

 

“You look stunning,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple.  “Ready to dance with the demons?”

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she responded, climbing into the backseat with Yuri.  Once they were in the car, Emma knew that the curtains were already up.  Yuri settled his hand on her knee, weaving his other fingers with hers.

 

It was comforting for her as much as it was an illusion: she was nervous.  Yuri had never gone into explicit detail about his grandparents, but she knew that they were not nice people.  She had her guard up, ready to take whatever they had to throw at her.

 

The car moved along the streets at a leisurely pace.  Yuri and her kept up a string of whispers between each other, which to any outsider would have looked like sweet nothings.

 

“What should I address them as?”

 

“Edgar and Natasha.  They don’t like Mr. and Mrs. Dorokhov.  It makes them feel old.”

 

She nodded.  

 

“Grandmother loves theater, so talking about that show you were in last year will definitely make her gush.  Grandfather likes drinking and architecture more than anyone else I know, but don’t try to participate if he starts talking about the house or alcohol.  He just wants an audience to listen to him.  Just smile and nod.”

 

“Sounds like my job is easy,” she teased, blinking as one of her contacts moved a little.  She quickly fixed it, the world coming back into focus.

 

“I owe you a nice dinner for doing this.”

 

“I love nice dinners as much as the next girl, and would love to get some with you, but don’t do it because of this.  It’s not quid pro quo.  I’d do this whether or not you promised to do something for me.  We’ve got each other’s backs, right?”

 

Yuri nodded, fingers running through her long, honey blonde hair, falling like a waterfall over her dress.  

 

“Oh, there’s something I need to talk to you about, but I didn’t think it would be appropriate before tonight.  After dinner I just need a few minutes to talk to you.”

 

Yuri’s eyebrows raised.  “Sure.  Anything.”

 

_ Good,  _ she thought happily,  _I don’t want to keep Stefan a secret.  If he knew before the dinner, though, he would be worried about slipping up the whole time._

 

When they pulled up to the large mansion with the sleek black gate and rose bushes adorning the outside, Emma felt herself shrink about three inches.

 

“It’s now or never,” Yuri said easily, opening the door and tugging her with him.

 

A maid opened the door for them.  A  _maid_.  When Emma wandered into the parlor, she gaped open-mouthed at the wall-sized stained glass window of the archangel, the late evening sun casting the colors over the two of them.

 

“Yuri, you weren’t kidding,” she whispered, wandering across the polished hardwood, heels clicking against it.  “This is beautiful.”

 

Her eyes searched for the hosts, but they hadn’t arrived yet.  

 

“Should we just… wait here, then?” she said uneasily, but when she looked back at Yuri, his eyes were fixed upon something to her left, and she followed his gaze.

 

“Holy…” Emma walked over in a daze, taking in the acoustic guitar propped up against a golden stand.  It looked like it was made of driftwood, smoothed down meticulously, the strings shimmering and gold.

 

“I’m glad you like it,” a deep voice boomed from the next room, and a tall man wandered in, smiling under his mustache, tiny, watery eyes gleaming.  “Go ahead, try it out.  Yuri tells me that you’re a talented musician.”

 

Blushing a little, Emma’s fingertips stroked the wooden surface.  “I play, but I don’t know…”

 

A woman came from the other room next, touching her husband’s arm gently.  Her silver hair was done up in an artful bun, a french twist in the front giving the illusion that her hair was a crown atop her head.

 

“Don’t worry, dear, that old thing has been sitting in storage for years.  We got it at a charity auction and never used it.”

 

Emma lifted it up, the strap leather with gold leaf designs.  She wondered what the list price for the thing was.  More than that, she wondered how many more gorgeous specimens like this were just wasting away in rich people’s basements.

 

The thought made her fingers start to strum basic chords, the whole hall echoing with the music.

 

“Beautiful,” Edgar praised, wandering over to the seats near the piano.  Yuri hadn’t moved, though, was watching Edgar with narrow eyes.

 

“Come now, my boy.  We have drinks.  Emma, would you be a dear and play us a song?”

 

Yuri still hadn’t moved, but Emma shot him a look, and finally his feet started moving.

 

They all sat down, the butler coming out with a drink cart, placing four drinks on the coffee table.  Emma tentatively sipped hers, keeping a surprisingly straight face despite it being almost straight vodka with a dash of cranberry juice.

 

Once she took a few sips, she placed her glass down, strumming softly at the guitar, the music filling the room soothingly.  As long as she had the instrument, she would be okay.  It was lucky that they had a guitar at all.  If she could play, nothing they said would get to her.

 

Yuri had already downed his whole drink, and Natasha was watching him with a bemused smile.  “Goodness, my boy, you were thirsty.”

 

“Sorry,” he said calmly, licking his lips, “Long day at practice.  I’m revamping my short program from two years ago to add the quad flip into my roster.”

 

Edgar raised his glass.  “To your skating career.”

 

Yuri raised his empty glass, which the butler quickly filled, and drank to it.

 

“So, Emma, Yuri tells us that you’re in a band.”

 

Emma nodded, the soothing melody of Stairway to Heaven starting to echo around them.  “I have a lovely group.  We do gigs a few times a month.  It’s hard, but worth it.”

 

“Yuri also tells us that you’re a waitress,” the word sounded funny the way he said it, and Yuri tensed, but Emma just let the music swirl around her.  

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

Natasha smiled over her drink.  “I have a lot of admiration for hard workers.  Before I married Edgar, I was a bartender in Moscow.  When he walked up to the bar during an important business meeting and ordered a martini, neat, with three olives and a shot of top shelf vodka on the side, I felt a connection to him immediately.  That was my last night as a bartender, anyway.”

 

Yuri’s face revealed that he had known none of that.  

 

“When Yuri was little we used to sometimes visit Moscow to see him, and took him to the park where we had our first date.  He loved chasing after the birds.  You were the cutest little baby, Yuri,” his grandmother’s face slackened with memories.

 

“I remember that,” Yuri said slowly, “We would bring sandwiches and throw leftover bread to the ducks.”

 

Emma wasn’t sure what was happening, but this was not how she had expected the evening to go.

 

They all chatted lightly for a while, until the butler called for dinner.  Edgar and Yuri were discussing Yuri’s twelfth birthday party, and how the clown had been terrible, and Emma floated over to the stand to put the guitar back when she heard the clicking of stilettos signaling that Natasha had followed her over.

 

“I’m glad someone finally got the chance to play it,” she said smoothly, her body between Emma and the hallway where Yuri and Edgar had disappeared to.

 

Red flags were going up in Emma’s mind, but she tried to remain calm.  “It sounded wonderful.  My own guitar is a little beaten up, but I take care of her.”

 

Natasha’s smile was ice-cold.  “You can have that one, you know.”

 

Emma spluttered, “What?”

 

“When you’re a part of this family, my husband and I can take care of you.  If you wanted, you could have any guitar in the world.”

 

Emma’s fingers had gone still while pulling the instrument over her head.

 

“Oh, well, that’s incredibly kind of you…”

 

“Don’t think of it as a kindness,” she intoned, downing the last of her drink and placing it on the mantel.  “Think of it as a down payment on Yuri’s future.”

 

It was funny, because this is what Emma had been waiting all night for, but she had expected to have Yuri next to her to guide her through the lines.  “I don’t…”

 

“No, don’t speak, listen,” her words were soft and clipped, electric blue eyes pinning Emma in place.  “Our grandson needs to marry someone that we approve.  You already have the stamp of approval.  Sure, you’re a little poor, but you’re pretty, talented, and sharp.  You make him happy,” for just a second she looked like she defrosted, but the ice cold words continued within seconds, “which is why we’re willing to offer you a cash amount to stay with him.  It would be paid in monthly increments.  No more shitty waitress job, no more gigs until three thirty in the morning in crowded clubs…”

 

Emma started shaking.  That was two weeks ago, she thought, the memory of leaving the club at 3:30, she had thought that when they’d stayed that late that no one else was there.  

 

Someone had seen.

 

They’d been  _spying on her_

 

“... and we’d obviously have to have you stop seeing that other boy of yours.”

 

Emma’s ears were ringing.  Placing the guitar delicately on the stand, she couldn’t even speak, everything coming to a stop around her at once.

 

_ “I don’t want you tangled in it.” _

 

Apparently she already was tangled, and the spiders were moving in for the kill.

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's a plot twist.
> 
> Also, the image for the guitar that I have in my brain is gorgeous.
> 
> If you like this, check out my other fic, about Viktuuri figuring out Yuuri's anxiety during an extended look at episode four. Also, there is some already released smut in that one, if that's what you're all about.
> 
> For those of you counting down until Otabek makes an appearance, "Basil Returns from the Dead" is coming soon. I promise it will make all your Otayuri dreams come true.
> 
> I love feedback like Makkachin loves steamed buns. Let me know how you feel in the comments, and if you like the fic, drop me a kudos.


	6. Oscar Wilde Went to Prison For This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri makes a decision that has a huge impact on his life. Later, blueberry pancakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Long time no see. So I've written up to chapter 10 of this fic, I'm just in editing mode right now. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I know I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> No trigger warning necessary. Just enjoy.
> 
> “Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them,” -Oscar Wilde

 

Yuri almost threw a fit when he saw the instrument laying out before Emma.  She was in silver, too, ethereal and beautiful, just like mama would be.  

 

She started playing without complaint.  Of course she would; she knew what this dinner was.  She was ready to play her role.

 

It took everything he had not to break, right then.

 

When they were eating dinner, keeping up the abnormally cheery and intimate conversation, Emma was quiet to his right, and looked spaced out.  He assumed that the nerves were getting to her.

 

When his grandparents wished them farewell at the door, Yuri let out a sigh in relief, brushing his fingers through his long hair.  “That went surprisingly well.”

 

Emma was quiet next to him.  They moved to the car, and he held the door open for her.  They climbed in.  Once they were on their way, Emma started nervously, “So that thing…”

 

“Oh, right!  What did you want to tell me?”

 

Her face betrayed that something deep was going on, some internal war.  Yuri started to feel his nerves fray.  “Emma?”

 

She closed her eyes, running her fingers through her own hair.  

 

“Can the driver stop?  I want to go to the park.”

 

Yuri said something to the driver, who pulled over.

 

“Just wait for us here,” Yuri told him softly, as Emma’s fingers tugged his sleeve.  The late evening settled over the park, a blanket of quiet.  There was no one around.

 

They went over to a bench, and Emma patted it for him to sit down.

 

“Can I braid your hair, Yuri?”

 

The skater cocked his one eyebrow, but said nothing, settling into the seat. 

 

She moved behind him, kicking off her heels so that her toes sunk a little bit into the chilled earth.

 

Her deft fingers started working through his soft hair slowly, and they sat in silence for a few moments before she said quietly, “Yuri, I’m seeing someone.”

 

Yuri breathed in sharply, feeling an ache deep in his gut, some leftovers of the part of him that wanted her.  It took a moment, but he managed to quell the desire to get upset.

 

After it sat with him for another moment, he found himself smiling.  He felt the braid start to take shape, and asked, “Who is the lucky guy?”

 

She kept working.  “Stefan.”

 

Yuri snorted, “The keyboardist?  I thought intra-band relationships were forbidden.”

 

She wasn't laughing.

 

Yuri could see a bunny out of the corner of his eye dart across the walkway, and he was tempted to glance over, but he kept still to make her life easier.

 

“I always liked him,” Yuri began, closing his eyes at the sensation of her pulling more hair for the braid to start to take shape.

 

“Yeah, me too.”

 

He sat until she finished the braid.  She had pulled only the top half into it so that it was out of his face, his green eyes now completely unobstructed to gaze at her curiously.

 

When Yuri looked harder, he saw that she was crying.

 

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Yuri bristled, leaning forward and brushing a tear from her face.  Her mascara was running, and he was momentarily distracted by how pretty her eyes looked when reflecting in her crystalline tears.

 

“Yuri, I’m sorry, I don’t want to have to tell you…” she backed up a little, stumbling in the mud, hands coming up to her own hair.  

 

“Hey, no, I’m happy for you.  I hope you and Stefan work out.  I’m sorry if this got in the way of that…”

 

“No,” Emma cut him off, face going dead serious for a moment. “It’s not that.  Your… grandmother and grandfather were so kind to you tonight.  You guys had such a nice time.  I’d hate to…”

 

Yuri’s face had hardened.  He should have known that something was going on. 

 

It just hadn’t happened while he was looking.

 

“It’s your grandmother.  They offered to bribe me to stay with you.  They said I wouldn’t have to work anymore.  God, Yuri, they offered me the guitar.  That guitar, I looked it up during dinner, is worth two million dollars.  They were just going to hand it to me…”

 

Yuri’s hands fell at his sides, fingers curling into fists.  A scary calm settled over him as she continued. 

 

“She told me she would pay me monthly, but that I would…” she hiccupped, “... she told me I’d have to break it off with Stefan.  Yuri, she’s been having me followed.  Only four other people knew about him and she  _ knew _ .  She knew about one of my gigs a few weeks ago, too.  She’s probably been having me followed for months.”

 

There are moments in a person’s life when a decision is made without argument.  It’s a very singular feeling; it's something that is difficult to describe.  The unpleasantness of wariness disappears in an instant, leaving nothing but gritting resolve.

 

Yuri came forward, face unreadable, and pulled Emma into a hug.  She was shaking, and he whispered calmly, “Go to Stefan’s, alright?  I’ll take care of this.”

 

“No,” she whispered, hugging him tighter, “No, I need to be there for you…”

 

Yuri pulled back, brushing her hair back from her face.  “You’ve done enough.  This is my fight.”

 

He was running, then.  They weren’t that far from the house, and he was in excellent shape.  

 

Each new streetlight he passed strengthened his determination.  His mind was clear for the first time in weeks.  The cool evening air whipping past him made him feel so alive, and it only helped to spur him forward.

 

When he got to the door, he didn’t bother knocking.  He flung it open, the door clattering against the wall.

 

The maid gasped, backing up.  

 

“Where are they?”

 

There was a sound of clicking in the parlor, and Yuri marched into the room.  Edgar was standing, drink in hand, and Natasha was up and moving in his direction, stopping when she saw him.

 

They both looked rather grim.  They probably knew what was coming.

 

Yuri paused to straighten himself out, moving towards them slowly, red infringing on his vision.

 

“You know, I could deal with the comments.  Even the occasional threats.  You threaten mama, you threaten me, sure.  You’ve had your hooks in her for years, and I could always take it.”

 

His eyes were glittering dangerously, and Natasha backed up a few steps.

 

“But  _ Emma _ , a girl who was only trying to help me, who had nothing to do with any of this, was the final fucking straw.  You pieces of shit,” he spat on the floor, “I’ve had enough.”

 

Edgar stood up, his drink clattering to the floor in front of him, glass intact on the carpet.  “Yuri, you don’t know what you’re doing.  I would stop right now.  You’re not thinking clearly.”

 

Yuri laughed, high pitched and clear, and it echoed around the room like harsh music.  “No, I see it clearly now.  I was so used to it with me and mama, even grandpa, that I didn’t blink.  Once you started having Emma followed, threatening her and trying to bribe her, that’s when you showed your true colors.”

 

Natasha’s mouth opened, then snapped shut, tears threatening to spill over her eyes.  “Yuri, my darling, we only want what’s best…”

 

“What’s best isn’t this.  I’m not your  _ little bitch _ anymore.  I’m done playing your games.  I’m the motherfucking  _ ice tiger  _ of Russia, and it’s time that I started acting like it again.”

 

He turned on his heel to leave, when Edgar shouted, “If you walk out that door, it’s over, Yuratchka.  You will no longer be a part of this family.”

 

Yuri snorted.  “Never wanted to be, anyway.”

 

Yuri took one last look at the parlor, at the stained glass that was darkened in the nighttime.

 

Then he slammed the front door behind him.  

  
  


***

 

Standing outside his apartment, it was dead silent.

 

Sasha’s one roller skate was still out on the landing, and Yuri had almost tripped over it rushing upstairs.

 

When he walked in, she was standing in the living room, phone on the floor and opened to the call that had just hung up.  She was trembling all over.

 

“What have you done, Yuratchka?”

 

Her ethereal, ghostly presence was gone in favor of haunting, angry eyes, of bared teeth: a wild animal.

 

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” he said quietly, straightening up to tower over her. 

 

“I guess you are your father’s son.”

 

Yuri’s anger boiled over, and he yelled out, “No, I’m nothing like that piece of shit who would abandon his own family.”

 

For a moment, he felt the irony like a sucker punch in the gut, but tried his best to ignore it.

 

His mother hissed, and he felt his strings being cut, strings he didn't even remember were there. “I’m just me, mama.  Take me or leave me.  I’m tired of being your pawn.”

 

“Get out!”  she screamed, picking up a picture frame and smashing it on the table. “Get out before I say three.”

 

Yuri didn’t need telling twice.  

 

Instead of heading downstairs, he went right up to Nikolai’s apartment.  He let himself in, and the old man was sitting in front of the evening news.

 

“Yuratchka, what’s…”

 

“I did it.  I’m not letting them control me anymore.”

 

Nikolai’s mouth sewed shut, and he nodded.

 

“I’m going to stay with friends for a while.  I’ll be back to see you when all of this blows over.”

 

Nikolai surged forward and crushed Yuri in a hug.  “I’m proud of you.”

 

“You won’t be so proud when you’re on the street.”

 

Nikolai pulled back, fixing his grandson with a sharp stare.  “We’ll figure it out.  But Edgar has a lot of connections.  You need to tread carefully, Yuratchka.”

 

Yuri nodded, wrapping his arms around Nikolai one more time, then disappearing down the hall.   

  
  


***

  
  


Yuri stood outside of Viktor and Yuuri’s apartment building, working up the courage.

 

Finally, he mumbled, “Fuck it,” and rang the bell.

 

Yuuri’s voice answered.  “Hello, Katsuki-Nikiforov residence.  Katsuki speaking.”

 

“Yuuri, it’s me.”

 

There was silence on the other end, then the door buzzed open.  Yuri bolted inside, heading to the elevator, nervously jiggling his foot on the ride up.  He hadn’t talked to the two of them in weeks save during practice.  He wouldn’t be surprised if they kicked him out.

 

Once the elevator opened, it was to see Yuuri’s bright, worried face, who immediately pulled the taller, younger skater into a bear hug.

 

“Jeez, Katsudon…”

 

Yuuri just held him tighter.  “We were so worried.  I’m glad you’re okay.”

 

Yuri felt himself relax for the first time in weeks.  “Yeah.  I’m okay.”

 

The elevator started buzzing from the two of them blocking the door, and Yuuri pulled away hastily, leading Yuri to his apartment.

 

Once inside, Yuri saw that the guest room pull-out was made up, and Yuri frowned.  “Why…”

 

“Oh,” Yuuri blushed a little.  “Viktor wouldn’t let me take it down.  He wanted it out in case you showed up.”

 

The blonde skater felt tears threaten in his eyes, and soon it wasn’t just a threat; he was crying.  Then he was _heaving_ , breath-stealing, aching sobs.

 

Yuuri rushed over to him, clutching him tightly, tears soaking the older man’s t-shirt.

 

A few minutes later, Viktor walked back in with Makkachin, and froze in the doorway, seeing his husband clutching the younger man tightly.  

 

Closing the door, Viktor shed his jacket and wound his arms around the two of them, holding Yuri tightly as his sobs wracked his body.

  
  


*** 

  
  


Yuuri and Viktor were sitting on the opposite side of the pull-out from Yuri, listening to his story until late into the night.  

 

At some point, Yuri whispered into the dim 3:00 AM silence, “I’m… gay.”

 

Yuuri and Viktor looked at each other, communicating something silently, before Yuuri said seriously, “well, Yuri, we love you no matter what.  If you have any questions, let us know.”

 

Viktor nodded.  “Yeah, we appreciate you telling us, but we figured it out years ago.”

 

Yuuri whacked Viktor in the stomach, making him splutter, “oof.”

 

They passed out in a cute pile later that night, Yuuri propped up against the back of the couch and Viktor’s head in his lap.

 

Yuri was next to them on the pull-out, an arm's length away from their cuteness.  He couldn’t sleep, though.

 

He disentangled himself from the sheets, grabbing his phone and listening to his voicemail from Emma, again.

 

_ “Hey, Yuri.  I’m going to be staying at Stefan’s for a few days until all this blows over.  I hope you’re okay.  I made it there safely and Lena will be bringing my stuff over tomorrow.  Call me tomorrow and let me know what happened.” _

 

Hearing her voice calmed him immediately, and he stepped out onto the balcony of the apartment, dialing a number that he knew by heart.

 

“Hey, Beka.  It’s me…”

  
  


***

  
  


The next morning Yuri awoke to the smell of pancakes.

 

The two lovebirds had fled the bed, leaving Yuri feeling kind of empty in it’s wake.

 

At some point Viktor had let Yuri borrow some pajamas, and he wandered out into the living area in the oversized t-shirt and sweats, listening to Yuuri and Viktor in the kitchen.

 

“... bigger place anyway.  It works out perfectly.”

 

Yuri sniffed the air.  “Blueberries?”

 

“Ah, good morning Yurio!  Did you sleep well?”  Viktor accidentally spilled pancake batter directly over the flame, making it bubble and burn much to Yuuri’s chagrin.

 

“That’s not my name,” he snapped, but even he knew that there was no real malice in his tone.

 

“Want some?”

 

“Please,” he said softly, settling himself onto the counter as they cleaned up the mess and threw a few pancakes on, sprinkling blueberries over the discs.

 

“Viktor and I were talking about everything that had happened, and we came up with a solution.”

 

Yuri stared at them blankly.  “What do you mean, came up with a solution?  I just needed a place to crash.”

 

Viktor flipped one of the pancakes half off the griddle, and Yuuri booted Viktor off the stove, the older man smiling dopily.  

 

Then, Viktor fixed his gaze on Yuri.  “We were going to be moving to a house anyway, the deal is about to close.  We wanted to know, if we were to move up our move-in date, how you would feel about moving into the house with us?  This apartment can house us for the moment, but we’d be a little cramped.”

 

Yuri was stunned.  “I… that’s too much.  I have other friends.  I can bounce around…”

 

“Nonsense.  We want you to feel at home somewhere.  Stay with us.  We can drive to the rink together, and will probably need the extra help once…”

 

Yuuri elbowed Viktor in the ribs suddenly, glaring at him.

 

“Once what?”

 

Yuuri flipped two of the pancakes onto a plate and handed them to Yuri, Viktor following suit with the syrup and powdered sugar.  “Nothing.  What do you think?”

 

Yuri took a bite of the pancakes and almost melted.  He couldn’t remember the last time that someone had cooked for him, other than the ornate meals at his grandparent’s house.

 

It felt… homey.

 

“I… I don’t want to impose.”

 

“You won’t be imposing,” Yuuri said seriously.  “We’ve been worried sick about you these last few weeks.  Honestly, you’d be doing us a favor by giving us peace of mind.”

 

Makkachin chose that moment to wander over and put her paw on his knee, staring up at Yuri with her big, brown eyes.

 

“I… thank you so much.  I’d be honored.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so close, fam! Just hold out for two more chapters. With chapter 8 not only will the rating go up but we'll finally get to see our favorite glove biter again :)
> 
> If you like this, check out my other fic, "The Silver Devils Play", about Viktuuri trying to figure their shit out during the preseason in terms of Yuuri's anxiety and Viktor's depression. That one already has some nice smutty chapters out if that's what you're all about. 
> 
> As always, feedback warms my sad, overused writer soul. Let me know in the comments if you like what you've seen so far! If this chapter made you punch up in the air in victory, then drop me a kudos.


	7. Lord Henry Takes in Poor Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri tries to garner support from sponsors to get out from his grandfather's thumb as the Summer Showcase arrives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friends
> 
> No trigger warning again, my friends. Just enjoy. I even put a little surprise in!
> 
> “Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic,”- Oscar Wilde

 

 

It turns out that living with Viktor and Yuuri was incredibly… unnerving.

 

They were always looking to  _ spend time _ with him.  They wanted to know where he was going, whenever he was going.  When they drove home from the rink they planned out what they were going to have for dinner that night so that they could rock-paper-shoot for who has to grocery shop.

 

On the third night of his stay with them, he made them a wild mushroom and roasted red pepper risotto, and Viktor almost died from happiness.

 

“Yuri your cooking is incredible.  We have to include you in the rotation!”

 

So, from that day out, they played tournament style to see who would be buying the food and preparing dinner.

 

Practice was less stressful because Viktor was spending half of it gushing over the new house.  “You’ll never believe the staircase! It’s like you’re on the Titanic, tell him, honey!”

 

Morning monster Yuuri grunted in response.

 

When Yuri asked Yakov about what his next step should be, Yakov just grunted.  “I’ve already contacted sponsors.  They’ll be coming to the showcase along with your regular sponsors in order to make you an offer.  Just make sure that your skate is worth their time and money.”

 

“Yuri, your quad flip is coming along nicely.  The Showcase is only a week and a half away, though, and you’re not landing it consistently.”

 

He knew what it was.  His mind was other places.  He hadn’t heard from his mother or grandparents since the fallout, and he had no idea whether he would ever hear from them again.

 

It sat on him, a crushing weight.

 

On moving day, Yuri waited outside the coffee shop him and Emma were scheduled to meet at.  He saw her coming up the sidewalk with Stefan, wheeling him and laughing with him about something.  It was so adorably domestic, how the two of them managed to look like they were the only ones in the world.

 

“Yuri!” Emma waved, and the two of them gathered around the table while Yuri went and ordered their drinks.

 

When Stefan pulled out his wallet to pay, Yuri shook his head.  “My treat.  Consider it a thank you for all you’ve had to go through with my family.”

 

Stefan’s hand found Emma’s on the table.  “Any word from them?”

 

“No,” Yuri’s hands shook a little.  “Emma, I actually asked you here for a favor.  Think you could do something for me?”

 

They talked over the breeze rustling the leaves in the trees, over the subtle shift in the air from a storm fast approaching.

  
  


***

  
  


Yuuri and Viktor were busy piling stuff into the moving van when Yuri got back.  

 

“Hey, I was going to help…” he said uneasily, and Yuuri cut Yuri off suddenly, blocking his view from the boxes.  

 

“What’s going on with you two?  You’re acting especially freaky today.”

 

“Nothing!” Yuuri said hurriedly, not meeting Yuri’s eyes.  “We picked up some more stuff for you today.  It’s already packed up.”

 

They finished unloading the stuff from the apartment, and Viktor sighed, touching the counters in the now echoing space.  “This was our first place together.”

 

Yuri felt like he was intruding on something, and his eyes widened when he saw that Yuuri was crying.  

 

“Oh, love,” Viktor wrapped Yuuri in a tight hug, whispering sweetly to him until he pulled himself together and offered up a watery smile.  

 

“I’m happy.  This is a new beginning, as a family.”

 

Viktor laughed.  “Yes, and we even get to bring our angry son with us!  It’s a dream come true!”

 

“What the hell, Viktor!?” Yuri yelled, but inside he felt warm at the thought of being considered a part of their family.

 

The three of them left the apartment, closing the door one last time with finality, and didn’t look back.

  
  


***

  
  


The new place was…

 

“Yuuri, we have  _ two _ dishwashers now!  I won’t have to do any dishes!”

 

Yuuri groaned, dropping more boxes into the living area.  “Of course that would be the first thing you notice.”

 

Otherwise, the house felt new and empty, acherry wood floors and chrome accents. The open floor plan made each room look like an extension of the kitchen.

 

Yuri was helping unload, but at some point Viktor and Yuuri showed him through the gorgeous open-floor downstairs to the stairway, ascending and narrowing up to a smaller upstairs with three bedrooms.

 

“The master bedroom is downstairs, so you can have any one of these rooms,” Viktor said cheerily.  “Just start unpacking.  Us new homeowners have some rather private stuff to unload.”

 

Yuri blinked and they were gone, piling his very small stack of boxes into the room with a large window seat.

 

“Home,” he tested warily.  

 

The doorbell rang, and he ran to the top of the stairs as he heard voices through the entryway.

 

Nikolai smiled up at him.  “I have some presents for you, my boy.”

 

Yuri bolted down the steps, capturing Nikolai in a hug.  “You came.”

 

Yuri had left a voicemail for his grandpa with the address of the new place, so that he could swing by and see where his grandson would be living.

 

“It’s beautiful,” he commented as they went outside, and Yuri saw that his grandfather’s car was loaded up with all of Yuri’s things.

 

Viktor whistled as they started unloading those boxes.  “So much cat print, Yuri.  Your room will be so  _ you _ .”

 

Once the four men finished unloading everything, Nikolai excused himself on account of a sore back.  Yuuri and Viktor were busy organizing all of the kitchen supplies.  

 

“This is going to take days,” Yuuri moaned, but Viktor pressed a kiss into his husband’s hair.

 

“It’s our new life.  Take some time to savor it, love,” Yuuri tugged Viktor down for a kiss, and Yuri backed out of the room, leaving them to their... organizing.

  
  


***

  
  


On the morning of the Summer Showcase, Yuri heard Viktor on the phone as he descended the stairs, and paused, listening in.

 

“Yeah, and you’ll bring it right here?  No, of course I won’t tell him.  It’ll be our little secret.”

 

Yuri fought his immediate instinct to run. 

 

Was Viktor planning something with his grandfather?

 

Eventually he managed to get down the steps and into the kitchen, where Viktor was making eggs.  “Good morning, Yurio!  Ready to wow with your performance today?”

 

“That’s not my name,” Yuri grunted, picking up a muffin and scarfing it down.  “Where’s Katsudon?”

 

Viktor started, looking back down at the pan.  “Busy.  He’ll meet us at the showcase.  He just had some errands to run.

 

The two of them finished breakfast, Yuri fighting every urge he had to question Viktor.

 

_ It’s Viktor.  He would never hurt you, _ he reasoned, but that didn’t stop the gnawing in his stomach.

 

They drove over.  Viktor pulled up to the rink, whistling.  “It’s already almost done.”

 

The Summer Showcase was a tradition for the Russian skaters for the last seven years.  It was a showcase for existing and prospective sponsors to survey the talent crop, as well as a thank you gala later in the evening for those who have been supporting the skaters throughout the year.  Usually there were celebrities, politicians, as well as business owners or representatives.

 

A lot of skaters took this opportunity to invite friends and loved ones to come.  Off the top of his head, he knew that Chris and Phichit were making an appearance, as well as Sara Crispino, who had become one of Mila’s favorite international skating friends.

 

At this point they were just setting up, though.  The rink was being outfitted in purple and gold, the theme colors for the year.  There would be appetizers served during the performances, and the dinner was downtown at the Belmond Grand Hotel, Europe.

 

It was by invitation only.  This was one of the events that the higher ups in the sponsorships made an effort to go to, because it was one of the biggest events of the year.

 

Viktor and Yuri jumped into the fray, helping arrange the decorations with the hired staff.  Yakov was running around yelling his top off to everyone that would listen.

 

In the late afternoon sponsors started flooding in.  The Russian skaters all excused themselves to get ready.  Georgi and Mila were the first two up.  Yuuri would even be performing a piece to bulk up the roaster a little bit.  The ice dancing pairs were all doing their partner warm ups, and a few of the other ice dancers looked a bit green.  For them, this was an unfamiliar rink, and this was a huge day.

 

The focus was usually on the new up-and-coming skaters, to try to pick out which ones were worth investing in.  For the first time since he was fourteen, Yuri would be one of the featured slots to try to garner support.

 

If he could get enough sponsorships and make enough connections today, he could make enough money to get his mother, or at least maybe Nikolai, out from under Edgar’s thumb.

 

Viktor was helping Yuri into his costume, whistling appreciatively.  “You look stunning, Yurio!”

 

“That’s not my…”

 

Whatever he had been about to say flew out of his mind when Emma’s face peeked from behind the door, looking stunning herself in a long black dress, hair pinned up in a bow.

 

“You came,” Yuri said, feeling emotion well up in him.

 

She nodded, eyes sparkling with glittering purple eyeshadow, contrasting brilliantly with her green eyes.  “I gave them the music, Yuri.  Are you sure about this?”

 

Viktor looked at Yuri, puzzled.  “I’m very sure.”

 

The line-up blew by. Viktor and Yuri watched from the sidelines as Mila and Georgi previewed their free skates for the upcoming season.  The sponsors were all done up in suits and ballgowns, mingling and sipping champagne and watching the skaters with dollar signs gleaming behind their eyes.

 

Just after one of the ice dancers finished her routine, Yuuri suddenly appeared.  He caught Viktor’s elbow and pulled him in for a kiss.

 

“Guys, seriously?!”

 

Viktor pulled back from Yuuri, eyes wide and looking like he had gotten hit by lightning.  There were happy tears in Yuuri’s eyes.

 

“What the hell, you two?!”

 

Something was passing between the two of them, something private and happy, and Yuri was at a loss.

 

Viktor pulled Yuri in for a hug next, crushing him, and Yuri cringed, yelling, “Not the costume, you idiot!”

 

Gasping in recognition, Viktor pulled back.  “Right, I’m sorry, Yura.  We just got amazing news.  We’ll make an announcement about it during the banquet.”

 

Yuri rolled his eyes, flattening the material out.  Yuuri ran to go change, and they watched most of the rest of the performances fly by.

 

At the intermission, the second half skaters warmed up on the ice while another round of refreshments filtered into the bodies.  The stands, from the ice, looked decadent, strewn with glittering streamers and ribbon.  Every other person there was a tiny table with a lantern on it to keep drinks and food.

 

_ I’ve got this.  This routine won me a world record.  This routine won me the gold in my first ever Senior Grand Prix. _

 

_ This routine will remind me of my agape. _

 

When the end of intermission was announced, everyone left the ice but Yuri.  He stayed in the middle, taking a deep breath as everything settled down around him.

 

His costume was commissioned only last week, and it turned out wonderfully.  It was the perfect pure white visage of the archangel Michael, with a breastplate and flowing skirt that looked like a cape.  He had feathers etched in silver coming off his shoulders, and his hair was left down with a feather circlet in his hair, imitating a halo.

 

_ This is for you, mama. _

 

The music started.  

 

There was a quiet murmuring when the people realized that the music was different.  It was Emma’s voice singing the opening, and Yuri felt his body go through the motions, the old routine bone-deep in its recognition.

 

_ This is my good-bye, mama.  I hope you are watching. _

 

There were reporters there, but Viktor was getting the video of the performance on his phone, as well.  The singing was joined, suddenly, by a piano version of the music, that his mother had played for him over and over after his win, proud tears running down her face.

 

_ I have to find my agape without you and grandmother and grandfather anymore.  I’ll find it in old friends, and new… _

 

He launched into his quad flip, holding his breath, and when he landed it he fought the urge to scream in victory.

 

He could see Emma and Stefan cheering for him.  He could see Yuuri and Viktor watching with pride.  Mila, Georgi, Yakov, all the people who rallied around him, will see him succeed.

 

When the music hit it’s climax, Yuri felt the pressure.  He knew that this was it.  His performance here was the decider of whether breaking it off with his grandparents and mother was stupid or not; whether he could really garner the support of others to rally to his cause.

 

He thought of Viktor and Yuuri, who had held him as he cried.  He thought of Mila, critiquing him in practice and smothering him in kisses.  He thought of Yakov, how he looked out for Yuri all these years.

 

He thought of Emma, the girl who came into his life and made him realize that he had been letting too much go by the wayside.

 

It was time to fight back.

 

These people are his agape, now.

 

When he landed his final jump, he felt a peace wash over him, and in his final pose his gasping breath made him smile, and throw his hands up in excitement.

 

The cheers were deafening.  Viktor tackled Yuri in a hug when he came out of the rink, and Yuri felt like he was on top of the world.

  
  


***

  
  


At the gala later, everyone was dressed to the nines.  Yuri was wearing his navy and silver suit, another nod to his family that he’d given up.  He played with the bow tie nervously when Yakov came up to their table.  

 

Yuuri and Viktor were dancing, and Mila and him had been making fun of them and posting pictures of their stupidness on snapchat.

 

“Well?”

 

Yakov just nodded curtly, and Yuri let out a breath of relief.

 

Yuri jumped up and hugged the older man, springing back when he had realized what he had done.

 

“I’m proud of you, Yuri. I know you needed to do this in your own time, and I think you’ll be okay.”

 

Hearing that was surprisingly comforting, and Yuri was so excited that he ran up and started dancing with Viktor and Yuuri.

 

Soon Phichit and Chris were out on the dance floor too, and they danced for what felt like hours.  Yuri knew that there were probably hundreds of pictures of them making fools of themselves online, but he simply didn’t care.

 

_ I’m doing it, mama.  I hope, someday, you can forgive me. _

 

When dessert was served, Viktor stood up at their table, which had pulled over chairs so that it was Georgi, Mila, Sara, Phichit, Chris, Yuuri, Yuri, Emma and Stefan all gathered in one big clump.

 

Viktor clinked his champagne glance, and everyone at the table shut up.

 

“Hello, everyone.  As you know, I officially retired last season after marrying the love of my life,” Yuuri blushed as Viktor brought his hand up to kiss it, “And we’re excited to announce that there will be another new change.”

 

Yuri remembered all the weirdness they’d been hiding and waited with bated breath.

 

“The adoption papers have gone through, and we’d like to announce that our daughter, Hazel, will be arriving in one week.”

 

There was a loud commotion, and Phichit and Chris jumped up, excitedly patting their two best friends’ backs.  Emma and Mila squealed and demanded to see pictures.  

 

Yuri peered at the little runt to Viktor was cooing over on his phone.  She was only a little older than one, with bright blue eyes and a few curls of strawberry blonde hair.  Her mother had been a teenager who couldn’t take care of her anymore.  They were worried that she might back out before the papers went through, so Yuuri hadn’t wanted to jinx it by telling anyone.

 

“Yuri, aren’t you excited?  You’re going to be a big brother!”

 

Yuri was speechless.  He’d be living with a baby.  Viktor and Yuuri’s baby.  

 

Tears formed in his eyes, and he dropped his gaze as he muttered grumpily, “of course I'm excited.  I’ll be there to make sure you don't screw her up too much.”

 

They spent the rest of the night chatting and laughing, but at some point he excused himself to walk out Stefan and Emma.

 

When they were outside the hotel, he pecked Emma on the cheek really quickly “thank you.  You made it sound wonderful.”

 

Emma rolled her eyes, hand tightening on Stefan’s.  “It was your mother, not me.  I just edited and sang.”

 

“Still,” he shook Stefan’s hand.

 

The keyboardist peered up at Yuri.  “You’re a talented kid, Yuri.  We’ll be cheering for you.”

 

“Well, I’ll be at your gigs, so it’s only fair that you come to a few competitions too.”

 

Stefan nodded, and an understanding passed between them that went beyond words.  Emma cleared her throat, and they walked away from the hotel.

 

Yuri looked up at the stars, feeling for the first time in a while that things might be okay.

 

When he turned around on his heel, he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and a figure came into the light.

 

Yuri must be dreaming or… could it be…  _ impossible _ … but sure enough there he was, in a clean black tuxedo with blood-red bowtie and cumberbund, face full of an emotion that he was sure would be a mirror of his own.

 

He choked on air, because it was both too thick and too thin at once, whispering, “Beka?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOA look at that Otabek has returned! 
> 
> Also Yuuri and Viktor are going to be parents! I'm very excited for the cuteness. Stay tuned- next chapter will be told largely through flashbacks. It will also increase the rating so be prepared for some fun ;)
> 
> If you enjoy this fic, drop me a kudos. Also, if you like this, check out my other YOI fic "The Silver Devils Play" about Viktuuri figuring out their mental illnesses during the preseason


	8. Basil Returns from the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back at all the heartbreak Otabek has suffered from Yuri. Then, Otabek and Yuri give into temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people. 
> 
> This chapter is told from Otabek's perspective, because we haven't seen enough of him. For timeline purposes, it's helpful to know that in this version of the world, Otabek had an ACL tear that meant he couldn't compete at all the year after him and Yuri met. This starts off with his Grand Prix Final from the year after, or two years post-canon. Also known as six months before our story begins
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of internalized homophobia. If this fic makes you feel some type of way, reach out to a loved one. Go to the store and buy the materials for crocheting with that loved one. Turn on Yuri! on Ice and crochet scarves with the loved one in question while watching our favorite boys. Since my best friend showed me how to crochet it is quickly becoming my new favorite obsession
> 
> As usual, I do not own Yuri! on Ice
> 
> “The only way to get rid of temptation is to give in to it,”- Oscar Wilde

 

 

 

_Grand Prix Final- 6 months ago_

 

“Otabek Altin is next up on the roster.  Wow, this was a pleasant surprise, isn’t it?”

 

The announcer, Mark, looked to his fellow, Jada, who nodded.  “If you had asked me at the beginning of this season that Altin, who was out last year with an ACL tear, would climb through the rankings and not only make it back into the Grand Prix but to be the second highest spot, I would have laughed.  Now he’s my top spot to win.”

 

Mark cut in, “Altin is taking the ice now, everyone.”

 

“His theme for the year has been desperation.  It was an odd theme, don’t you think?”

Jada watched the Kazahstan skater make a lap around the rink before settling into the center.

 

“Definitely not something that is commonly done, but he says it represents the part of last year that he thought his skating career was over.  His message is that no matter how dark it gets, you need to keep fighting.  Truly inspiring, don’t you think?”

 

The skater went through his program, a delicate piano melody transitioning into a frantic rushing to keep up with the notes paired with a step sequence.  

 

“This part of his program represents when his life spun out of control, specifically when during practice his attempt at a quad lutz caused his injury.”

 

“Yes, that jump has yet to be landed at competition here.  Altin says this next part represents the sorrow he went through, thinking his career was over…”

 

A mournful violin joined the frantic piano until the two synced up, and the skater launched himself into the air for a combination.

 

The rest of the skate represented him clawing his way back to skating, his determination and desperation to keep going.  

 

Then, at the very end, when Otabek flew into his last jump, the crowd stood up and gasped as they realized…

 

“No way!  Altin just landed it!  Otabek Altin has landed the quadruple lutz in the Grand Prix Final!  What a momentous day for skating this is…”

 

Otabek barely heard any of the rest of the commentators, because as he glided off the ice, his stomach plummeted when he saw two wide, green eyes gazing at him in wonder.

 

 _He’s taller_ , Otabek thought, grabbing his skate guards from his coach and walking past Yuri, who held out his hand hastily.

 

It was the first time that the two had stood this close in two years.

 

Otabek raised his eyes to the younger skater, who was searching his own face for some sort of emotion.

 

_You don’t get that today, Yura.  You don’t get to see me crumble today._

 

He grasped Yuri’s hand firmly, then shuffled away, trying to pretend that the contact hadn’t made his whole body warm with fondness.

 

That day, Otabek won gold, Yuuri came in second, and Yuri came in third.

  


***

  


Otabek finished his second glass of champagne at the banquet later the next day, eyeing Yuri uncertainly.

 

The skater was dancing with Yuuri again, their fourth year in a row of dance offs, something that had become a tradition at this point.  People were taking videos, and Otabek couldn’t keep his eyes off Yuri.

 

The blonde was every kind of beautiful.  His hair was longer now, past his shoulders, and was up in a pony-tail right now, putting an emphasis on his high cheekbones and bright eyes.  The green orbs were dancing with excitement, his cheeks were flushed with exertion.

 

Otabek was in love with the idiot.

 

It had been two years since their fateful Grand Prix hook-up.  Yuri had become a partier on social media since then, often posting pictures of himself with half naked girls and a bottle of alcohol.

 

Otabek, himself, was bisexual, and was often seen with both men and women regularly, but he could see through the other skater as if he were a window.

 

Yuri was as gay as they come.

 

Yuri had given Otabek every reason to believe that it was a fluke, but Otabek knew Yuri.  

 

The Kazakh man had spent the last two years pining after him, after all.

 

Every person he kissed, he compared.   _This is how Yuri would have done it.  Yuri would bite me here.  Yuri…_

 

He’d been kicked out of more than a few bed whispering his name during foreplay.

 

When the dance-off was over, Yuri walked over to Otabek,  his eyes bright and face determined.

 

“It’s your turn.”

 

The older skater was stunned, because the boy who had smashed his heart into a million pieces was asking him to _a dance off_.

 

“It’s a tradition.  You’ve been abstaining for too long,” Yuri insisted, holding his hand out.  “Yuuri challenges everyone.”

 

Otabek felt himself tense.   _Oh.  He’s asking for Katsuki.  Of course he wouldn’t want to dance with me._

 

Though he was an excellent DJ, his dance skills were limited to hip hop.  He requested a song from the DJ, and Yuuri straightened the tie around his head, smiling dopily.

 

“I’m _ready!_ ”

 

Otabek ran through a few moves, surprised to see Yuuri start to mirror his movement, and soon they were passing moves of to each other, and the whole room had gathered to see the complex patterns that the two skaters were pulling off.

 

“My husband is good at _all dancing_.  Here are pictures of him defeating Yurio tap dancing last year,” Viktor was scrolling through his phone for the benefit of all who would listen.

 

When Yuuri resorted to the worm, Otabek adjusted his very expensive tuxedo, deciding that that was where he drew the line.

 

Leaving the dance floor, he saw Yuri gazing at him from the edge, lips slightly parted and face unreadable.

 

 _Fuck you for messing with my emotions again,_ Otabek blew past his coach on his way out of the hall.

Out in the hallway, he started undoing his tie, fingers shaking from frustration.

 

“Beka, wait!”

 

Otabek froze in place, not turning around.

 

“Go back inside, Yura.  The night isn’t over.”

 

He could hear Yuri approach him slowly from behind, shoes padding on the carpet.  “I’ve been thinking a lot about… temptation.”

 

Otabek could feel his skin tingle at the word, and he chanced a glance back at Yuri. The bronze medalist had his jacket on again, and looked like he was leaving for the night.

 

“Temptation?”  Otabek whispered darkly.

 

Yuri licked his lips, and Otabek growled, launching forward and pressing his lips to the younger skater’s.

 

His whole body was screaming _finally!_

 

For the first time in two years, Otabek was kissing the person whose name was on his lips.

 

Otabek pulled back, only a few inches shorter than Yuri, whose eyes were wide with recognition of the same longing, recognition of the same…

 

_Desperation…_

 

With the look, Yuri had figured out the alternate story that inspired Otabek’s skating theme.

 

They came together again.

 

Or, the more appropriate term would be that they crashed together again, because with the gnashing of teeth, the biting of necks, and eventually (though they don’t really remember the journey)  Otabek throwing Yuri back onto the bed in his hotel room, it was a train wreck from start to finish.

 

The older skater’s predatory gaze made Yuri’s whole body react, as the gold medalist climbed over the blonde.

 

“This doesn’t change anything,” Otabek said roughly, leaning down to bite at Yuri’s collarbone.  “It will take years to forgive you for everything you’ve done.”

 

“I know,” Yuri said honestly, running his fingers over Otabek’s face.  “There is no forgiveness.”

 

The pace was quick; they were both releasing two years of pent up sexual tension, two years of pent up _everything_ , and when Otabek’s lips feathered down Yuri’s chest, his name whispered in the blonde’s mouth, panting with need, made him moan.

 

The older man hadn’t realized how long he’d been waiting to hear his name sound like that.

 

As his fingers brushed the growing hardness in Yuri’s pants, he whispered, “Is this okay?”

 

Yuri nodded, but propped himself up on his elbows.  “I’ve… never…”

 

Otabek nodded.  “This is alright though?”

 

“Yes,” Yuri said breathily, leaning back when Otabek pulled down his pants to reveal Yuri’s growing erection.  

 

He swallowed it down in one go.

 

There was a lot of breathy moans after that, consent received but otherwise words were scarce.  When Otabek hovered over Yuri, his own erection wrapped in a condom, his fingers deep inside Yuri and digging out breathy gasps from the blonde, he thought _this is it.  This is what I’ve needed all these years.  Me, in control, Yuri, at my mercy, unable to deny his want for me anymore._

 

Yuri whined at the loss of Otabek’s lubed-up fingers.  The older man pressed a kiss to Yuri’s stomach, bending Yuri’s legs up so that he was almost in half, propping the legs up on his shoulders.

 

Then Otabek pushed in.

 

Yuri started crying halfway through, but Otabek just waited for him to get used to the stretch.  Just as he was about to pull out, Yuri nodded to signal that he was okay to continue.  Otabek pressed in farther, and when he was fully seated, he heard Yuri whisper, “Please.”

 

It was all he needed to start moving, his whole body responding to the plea.

 

When they finished, Otabek’s head rested against Yuri’s rapid heartbeat.

 

“I’m glad you understood,” Yuri said quietly, fingers tracing patterns on the older man’s shoulder.

 

“I needed this, too,” Otabek whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest.

 

Yuri sighed, nodding.  “Sometimes you just have to give into a temptation to let it go.”

 

_Let it go._

 

Otabek jumped off the bed, heart hammering, vision starting to become a little blurry.  “You… this was… where the hell did you hear that?”

 

“A book I read recently,” Yuri whispered, eyes wide with fear as he sat up to gaze at Otabek.  “You… what did you…”

 

_This can’t be happening.  I can’t believe I let him do this to me again._

 

“Fuck you, Yura,” the older skater whispered, stumbling to his clothes, barely able to see through his frustration and anger and… when he made it out into the hall, he felt salty tears drip onto his expensive tuxedo.

 

This was when Otabek’s heart broke the second time from _the same damned boy._

  


***

_Two weeks later..._

 

Otabek Altin was a man of few words.  

 

However, he’d heard from many people that despite this fact, his mouth was incredibly talented at getting messages across.

 

Otabek’s dark crop of hair disappeared under the girl’s dress, licking up her thighs and only coming up to give her a stern look, which was asking for permission.

 

“Yes,” she whispered breathily, and Otabek disappeared under the skirt of the dress again, making her scream out in ecstasy.

 

When Otabek slipped on the condom and slid into her, his brain saw another blonde writhing underneath him, and he closed his eyes as he pounded into her.

 

_Damn you, Yura, for ruining this for me, too._

  


***

_Present Day- Intermission of the Showcase_

 

Otabek hadn’t originally planned to come to the showcase, but after listening to the voicemail for the hundredth time, he boarded the flight earlier that morning.

 

“ _Beka, it’s me.  I’ve fucked up so many times with us.  There are no words, no apologies for everything that I have done to you.  But, and I promise I’m not drunk this time, I love you.  Loving you is one of the most real things I have to hold onto.  You’re the only person I think about, even when I want to want someone else, it’s only you.  I don’t know if you’ve listened to any of my other messages.  There are so many things I want to tell you… things that aren’t excuses for how I’ve treated you, but might help you understand.  There’s the Summer Showcase in a few weeks.  I’ll be skating Agape.  If you still think there’s any chance for us, come.”_

 

It was a very clear message.

 

Everyone in his life told him not to let the Russian manipulate him anymore, but Otabek had done everything in his power to move past Yuri and nothing else had worked.

 

Maybe seeing him would help.

 

As Otabek watched Yuri take the ice, in a shining white and silver suit not unlike an avenging angel, he knew that coming was a mistake.

 

Otabek couldn’t breathe when he saw him.  He was in the far back of the stands, trying to stay out of sight.

 

When Yuri skated the program, Otabek knew something was different.

 

 _You’ve changed, Yura,_ he thought, feeling himself well up with hope.   _Fuck you for making me hope, again._

 

He watched Yuri rush over to Viktor and Yuuri in excitement.  He followed the group to the hotel and sat in the back corner, watching Yuri dance and laugh and have fun…

 

...then when Yuri got up to leave with a pretty girl and a guy in a wheelchair, Otabek followed, possessed.

 

He snuck out the door and ducked to the side, watching them say goodbye, watching Yuri kiss her cheek, watching the other two walk away…

 

...not knowing what possessed him, Otabek stepped out of the shadows.

 

Yuri turned, stunning in his suit with his hair braided half back, sharp face framed in the sparkling light coming from the hallway.

 

“Beka?”

 

Yuri looked like he couldn’t breathe, and to be completely honest, Otabek couldn’t either.  So many emotions were tied with this other person.   _His_ other person.  

 

“Party looks like fun,” Otabek said stupidly, fighting the urge to punch himself in the face.

 

Yuri’s face was still slackened in surprise.  “Beka, you came…”

 

Otabek sighed, running his fingers through his hair.  “I came.”

 

Yuri rubbed his eyes, just to really grate on Beka’s nerves, and finally he’d had enough.

 

“I’m here, alright?  You called and I came.  Like a fucking dog,” Otabek was moving towards the taller man, possessed.  “Fuck you, Yuri Plisetsky.”

 

They came together, lips seeking each other out hungrily, tongues dancing in the light filtering out from the hotel.

 

“My room is upstairs,” Otabek whispered, feeling dread build up in his stomach.  

 

Yuri bit his lip, pulling away.  “I want to talk afterwards.  I want to stay when we’re done.  There… there’s so much I need to tell you.”

 

Otabek felt his whole world tilt on its axis, but it was extremely strange, because it felt like the angle was correct for the first time in his entire life.

 

Yuri continued.

 

“Last time we did this, we were fucking.  That’s not what I want this time.  Make love to me, Beka.”

 

Otabek’s fingers shook as he cradled Yuri’s face in his hands.

 

“I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that.”

  


***

  


Otabek and Yuri were in nothing but their boxers by time they collapsed onto the bed together, bodies tangling and lips pressing soothing, heated kisses into each other’s skin, like a peppering of promises.

 

The last time, they were a train wreck, two people crashing together.  

 

Now, they were slow, leisurely, kissing and holding each other for what felt like forever.  

 

A few minutes or hours later, Yuri straddled Otabek, pressing his ass back into Otabek’s hardness.  “Is this how you want me, Beka?”

 

The older man gasped at the sensation.  “Yes.”

 

“I’ve imagined being on top so many times since last time,” Yuri whispered as his lips feathered over Otabek’s chest, “I wanted to take you apart the way you did me.”

 

Otabek moaned as Yuri pulled off his underwear.  

 

“Is this okay?”

 

At Otabek’s vehement nod, Yuri’s lips pressed to the tip of Otabek’s cock, tongue licking at the collecting precum.  The younger man pulled back, licking his lips now.

 

“You taste amazing, Beka.”

 

“Fuck,” Beka whispered, closing his eyes at the sensation at Yuri took the older man into his mouth, bobbing and sucking.  Every few minutes Yuri would pop off, licking up the side of the older man’s hardness, until Otabek was writhing underneath him, desperate.

 

_Desperate._

 

“I need this, Yura,” Otabek whispered, full of emotion.  “I need this to be real.”

 

Yuri pulled off one more time, whispering.  “It can be, but I really hope you have lube.”

 

Growling, Otabek used his hips to flip their positions, hovering over the younger man for a second before rocking back, pulling the lube and condoms from his dresser drawer.

 

Yuri grinned mischievously.  “Were you expecting to fuck me tonight, Beka?”

 

Otabek crashed his lips against Yuri’s again, whispering between kisses, “I didn’t expect it, Yura.  I needed it.  I told you that already.  Sometimes you just have to hope.”

 

Yuri’s eyes were wide with recognition, wide with something so innocent that it _had_ to be true: love.

 

Otabek lubed up his fingers and requested access with his eyes.  At the younger man’s nod, he slid the first two in, making the other man fall back onto the bed at the sensation.

 

Otabek took the opportunity of the pause to start sucking at the skin on Yuri’s chest and neck.  

 

 _This is mine,_ the marks said without argument, _I’m not letting him get away again._

 

Otabek slowly worked Yuri open, eliciting lewd and gorgeous gasps and moans that Otabek had dreamed of for years, so familiar from his fantasies and memories but also completely and wonderfully new.

 

Yuri didn’t beg this time.  This time, Otabek fell back onto the bed as Yuri hovered over him.  By sitting above him, Yuri was finally taking responsibility for how much power he held over the older skater.  He was saying: _I know that I can hurt you.  Take all of me.  Take it and make me remember that fact.  Never let me forget._  

 

As Yuri slowly fucked himself down onto Otabek’s cock, Otabek let out a barrage of curses.  It was the most he’d said all night.

 

When Yuri was fully seated, he leaned back onto Otabek’s bent knees, breathing rapidly.  He closed his eyes in ecstasy.

 

“I love you, Otabek.”

 

Tears were forming in Otabek’s eyes as he waited for Yuri to start moving.   _You’ve broken my heart twice already, Yura.  Please take care of me this time._

 

Eventually Otabek lost his patience and bucked up into Yuri’s tight heat, and the other skater gasped in surprise and happiness, whispering, “Again.”

 

They set a slow and careful pace, reveling in the closeness, laying all of their frustrations and worries and sadness in the gently floating melodies of their whispers and moans, sweet music that played around them and cocooned them in the shell of hope and love.

 

As Otabek got close to coming apart, he wrapped a hand around Yuri’s cock, showing the Russian the last bit of attention he needed before he spilled on Otabek’s stomach, and the tightening of Yuri around his own member sent Otabek into orgasm seconds later.

 

A few moments later they silently moved into the shower, not saying anything else and not trying anything more, sexually.  They slowly washed each other clean, running their hands all over each other.  If the earlier kisses were promises, then the soapy hands stroking each other was a reassurance.  

  
_I can’t promise tomorrow,_ the hands said as they rinsed off so much sweat and pain and sadness, _but for right now, I’m not going anywhere._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's that. Lots of sex, lots of emotions. Next chapter is mostly smut and fluff and a lot of feels. I loved writing it so much. I can't wait for you to all get there.
> 
> If you like this, check out my other YOI fics, "Tabula Rasa" and "The Silver Devils Play"


	9. Dorian Lets Basil See the Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and Otabek deal with the unanswered questions from Yuri's past. Yuri lets Otabek in, and provides important insight into what precipitated the problem with his mother and grandparents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> This chapter is providing the conversation that was sorely needed between Otabek and Yuri in the form of fluff, angst, and a little smut. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: references to internalized and blatant homophobia as well as explicit sexual content. If this fic makes you feel some type of way, reach out to a loved one. Find out where is hosting a karaoke night near you and attend with the loved one. If anyone is able to sing History Maker lmk where I need to go
> 
> As usual, I do not own Yuri! on Ice, but would like to watch those who do drunkenly sing History Maker

“The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold.  The curves of your lips rewrites history,” -Oscar Wilde

 

When Yuri woke the next morning, as his eyes adjusted, he realized that he was being held fast by strong arms.

 

He hummed in pleasure, reveling in the feeling of the warm body behind him.  He needed water, though, and when he started to move Otabek growled possessively, chest vibrating against Yuri’s back, holding him tighter.

 

“Don't go,” the older man whined, in sharp contrast with the aggressiveness of his growl.  

 

Yuri chuckled.  “I'm just getting water.  You have me for the whole day.”

 

Otabek loosened his grip and Yuri turned around, pressing sucking kisses into Otabek’s neck, breathing in deeply because his scent was so intoxicatingly and lovely and made him ache in the good way.

 

“I thought you were getting water,” Otabek laughed, and Yuri just pushed Otabek back on the bed, grinning devilishly.  

 

“I can think of something else to drink,” Yuri fixed Otabek with a heated stare, and Otabek felt himself start to react, “then I promise the rest of the day will be talking and reconnecting.”

 

“My favorite,” Otabek joked, hands running over Yuri’s bare hips.

 

Yuri started kissing down Otabek’s neck, swirling his tongue around his hardening nipples when he reached them.

 

Upon getting lower, Yuri licked up Otabek’s shaft lewdly, humming in appreciation.

 

“Shit, Yura,” Otabek breathed, “if this is how you procrastinate I hope we never talk.”

 

Yuri pouted at the older skater.  “It’ll be fun, I promise, I’ve just imagined doing this so many times in the last two years.  Now that I have you like this it’s hard to stop…”

 

Yuri swallowed Otabek down, the older man’s cock hitting the back of his throat painfully and deliciously.

 

“Might be hard to talk with a sore throat,” Otabek gasped, trying to be sarcastic, but within seconds words lost all meaning as Yuri sucked his way back up the shaft to fuck his mouth down on him a minute later.

 

When Otabek was about to come, Yuri swallowed him down again, loving the feeling of the warmth sliding down his throat.

 

“Alright,” Yuri came up, still kneeling between Otabek’s legs.  “We can leave now…”

 

Otabek moaned.  “What if I just want to fuck you into the mattress?  Talking with us always leads to bad things.”

 

Yuri smiled, crawling up Otabek to press a kiss to his lips, still warm and salty from the earlier activities. “This time my head is clearer.  Trust me?”

 

Yuri was scared.  This was it.  Otabek had given Yuri so many chances, and he’d disappointed him more than once.  This is the moment that everything could be thrown back in his face.  Otabek had Yuri at his most vulnerable.

 

The older man’s face was unreadable as he asked hesitantly, “one day?”

 

“If I can't convince you by midnight then you’ll leave and I’ll never call you again.”

 

With their naked bodies tangled together like this, so intimate and hopeful, it was hard to imagine that they might both be waking up in different time zones in just one day.

 

“This better be a fucking amazing day.”

  
  


***

  
  


As Otabek stepped out of the shower, he heard Yuri on the phone.  

 

“Yeah yeah I’m sorry I worried you I’m the worst.  I just won't be at practice today.  I’ll see you tomorrow morning if you’re asleep when I get back.”

 

There was quiet as the other line answered, and Yuri laughed, said a good-bye, then hung up.

 

He was already in one of Otabek’s outfits; a red t-shirt and ripped jeans.  Otabek felt his possessive side flare to life at the sight.

 

Yuri lit up like the sun when he caught sight of Otabek.  “I could get used to that,” he whispered, licking his lips suggestively.

 

Otabek dropped his towel, knowing that Yuri’s eyes were watching him hungrily as he went to his suitcase and picked out an outfit: black leather pants and long-sleeved grey shirt.

 

“Where to first, tour guide?”

 

Yuri was thoughtful for a moment. “Today we’re going on a very long adventure.”

 

Otabek smirked.  “Adventure to where, though?”

 

Yuri rolled his eyes.  “Just fucking roll with it.  I’m trying to be romantic.”

  
  


***

  
  


When they hit the street, Yuri grabbed for Otabek’s hand gently, lacing his fingers with the older skater’s.  Otabek stared at the contact, stunned.

 

“Are you sure…”

 

Yuri nodded, leaning down slightly and kissing Otabek on the temple.  “I told you, things are different now.  I want to prove that to you.”

 

As they started walking, Otabek looked around St. Petersburg.  He’d only been here a few times, and never really got a chance to see the city before now.

 

Now he’d be walking around with Yuri, holding hands no less, and he couldn't help but feel internal barriers go up.

 

_ Don't let him hurt you again.  He's done it before.  A little hand holding doesn't change anything. _

 

Then the blonde turned to him and smiled happily, and all those thoughts drifted away like fallen leaves on a rushing river.

 

“Do you have a plan, or are you winging it?”

 

“Can't it be both?” Yuri teased, then his face dropped. “I had to have a little hope too, Beka.  I planned for you coming because I couldn't handle any other option.”

 

Otabek sighed, feeling his resolve chip away.

 

“Where’s first?”

 

“First is breakfast.  We’re meeting someone.”

 

Otabek raised his eyebrows, but when they came up to a little outdoor cafe he recognized the man waiting at a table.

 

“Grandpa!” Yuri said cheerily, hugging Nikolai tightly. Then, he pushed back.  “Grandpa, this is Otabek.  He’s… special to me.”

 

Otabek was on the spot.  He didn't usually do well with old people.  Actually, he just didn't do well with  _ people  _ period.

 

Nikolai eyed Otabek appraisingly, and the skater found himself straightening his posture.

 

“Nice eye, Yura.  He’s a charming young man.”

 

Yuri’s face was not unlike a child’s on Christmas morning at the praise.  “Thanks.  Sit, I’ll go get us food.”

 

Otabek sat down opposite the flimsy outdoor table from Nikolai, who was tall, domineering, and a little scary.  To say that Otabek was nervous would be a gross understatement.  

“You care about my Yura.”

 

It wasn’t a question, and Otabek found himself nodding.

 

“Take care of him, will you?  I’m leaving him in your hands.”

 

Otabek blinked, stunned.  “Um, we haven’t…” but he couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t explain that this was a test; that it would take Yuri moving heaven and earth to earn Otabek’s trust back.

 

“That’s okay,” Nikolai sighed, glancing up at a bird fluttering past, struggling through the sky.  “Yuri’s just starting to figure things out.  He was a puppet for so long that he’s still learning how to walk without strings attached.”

 

Otabek was at a loss for words.  

 

He knew next to nothing about Yuri’s personal history, he realized with a start.  Despite being in love with the man for two years, he didn’t know who he lived with, or any of the rest of the other man’s family save his grandfather, who had been tagged in one or two Instagram posts.

 

Otabek’s hands were shaking as he realized that he didn’t know the man that he loved at all.

 

“What do you mean, strings?” he started hesitantly, and Nikolai shook his head.

 

“If I’m the first stop, then that will be far later in the story.”

 

Otabek’s eyes widened.  “You know…?”

 

“Not all of it, no.  I know that Yuri is going to spend the day telling you his story.  It would only be fitting that you start with me.  I raised Yuri for most of his childhood.”

 

Otabek leaned forward, taken off guard.  “What happened to his parents?”

 

“My daughter and his father were unable to take care of him after five.  I’m sure that will be another stop on your tour, today.”

 

“When you say ‘tour’...”

 

“Mrs. Tetsa threw in extra cinnamon buns again for me, grandpa,” Yuri descended upon the two men, surprising them both, and laid out a tray of cinnamon buns and other decadent breakfast pastries.

 

Otabek stared at Yuri a little too long, trying to place a wounded childhood there, or maybe a kid who didn’t have parents, but all he saw was Yuri, plain old Yuri.

 

“Mrs. Tetsa has been feeding me cinnamon buns since I moved here at twelve,” Yuri began, chomping down on one and getting frosting all over his mouth, smiling at the flavor.

 

Otabek blushed at the sight, feeling the inclination to lick the frosting of but knowing that that was hardly appropriate.

 

“When I first moved here I lived in that apartment, right up there,” Yuri said calmly, picking at the cinnamon bun.  “That’ll be our next stop after breakfast.”

 

Otabek nibbled on his cinnamon bun, yet again at a loss for words.

 

“I lived there alone until just before my debut Senior Grand Prix Final.  Then my mother moved in with me because she was released from the hospital.”

 

“Why was she…”

 

“Patience, Beka,” Yuri eyed Otabek with a look of warning.  “It’s easier to show you than to tell you.”

 

“What was I like as a kid, grandpa?” Yuri nudged teasingly, and Nikolai chuckled good-naturedly.

 

“Stubborn.  Determined.  A little asshole, I would venture to say.”

 

Otabek found himself laughing, remembering little Yuri, and how much he wanted to be like him.

 

Nikolai told a few stories from Yuri’s childhood: how he first learned how to ride a bike, how he was determined to be a skater, how Yuri always had a sweet tooth.

 

“He’d sneak cookies while we’re in the bakery and eat them on the way home.  I always had to go back and pay for them!” Nikolai patted Yuri on the shoulder, who laughed, smiling at Otabek.

 

“You caught me,” he said softly, and Otabek was certain he saw something there, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

 

“Alright, grandpa, we have to move onto our next stop.  Walk us back?”

 

The three of them rose, and Nikolai led the two of them down the street.  This time, Otabek reached out for Yuri’s hand, and Yuri blushed, trying his best not to smile but failing miserably.

 

They got to a simple apartment complex and moved into the door.

 

Once they were inside, Yuri rounded on Otabek, saying calmly, “I might have to ask you to leave if it gets to be too much.  I… I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”

 

Otabek wanted to ask, but knew that it was no use.  The three of them moved up the stairs, and a girl with dark pigtails was playing on the landing.

 

“She’s been playing for five days straight,” she said miserably, teetering dangerously on her roller skates.

 

Yuri clutched Otabek’s hand tighter, and he realized that this wasn’t going to be like the last meeting.

 

They stopped outside of an apartment, and piano music drifted from underneath the door.  Nikolai excused himself to go to his own apartment upstairs, and once he was gone Yuri stared at the wooden door, frozen, green eyes full of fear.

 

“Alright.  Now or never.”

 

He put in his key and opened the door, and Otabek’s eyes widened.

 

The apartment was in disrepair.  There were water bottles piled high in a corner, and in another empty granola bar wrappers and apple cores.  Yuri padded carefully inside until they could see into the living room.

 

She was a ghost.  That was the only explanation for the ghostly white hair, the ethereally pale skin.  It was clear that she hadn’t bathed in far too long, and she was in a stained silver dress, paying on the piano with her eyes closed.

 

Yuri let Otabek’s hand go, and the older man stayed put as Yuri started walking towards her delicately.

 

“Mama, it’s me.  It’s Yuri, your son.”

 

Tears, he realized, were glittering on her cheeks.  “It can’t be.  I don’t have a son.”

 

Yuri froze mid-step, trembling increasing.  “Grandmother and grandfather haven’t had you committed yet.  Nikolai thinks it’s to mess with me.  I need you to go to the hospital…”

 

That’s when Otabek saw the keys.

 

They were sticky with blood, her fingers sticking to them as she played a hurried beat, and Otabek suddenly recognized Yuri’s own program that he’d performed the night before.

 

The piano piece, the change in the music, was her playing it.

 

“My avenging angel is dead,” she whispered, sobbing, “Why did he leave me?”

 

“I’m right here, mama,” Yuri said softly, finally reaching the woman and lifting her delicately from the bench.  She didn’t struggle, curling into Yuri and brushing her hand against his face, leaving a scarlet hand print.

 

“How dare you come back, Mikhail,” she protested weakly, “You and your whore boyfriend should go back to France…”   
  


 

“Shh, mama,” he said softly, carrying her over towards Otabek and dropping his phone on the table.  “Can you call an ambulance?”

 

Of all the things that he expected on his romantic day with Yuri, this was not one of them.

 

It took twenty minutes for them to arrive.  In that time Yuri settled into the couch, his frail, tiny mother curled up in his lap, sobbing and periodically calling him terrible names.  She wasn’t a threat to anyone, though.  She was probably dehydrated and malnourished, if what that girl on the landing said was true.

 

When the authorities wheeled her out, he held Yuri’s hand again, and when she saw the two of them, she screeched, “It was you, you fucking homo…”

 

She struggled to get up, and the paramedic had to strap her down as she writhed, hissing at Otabek, “You turned my son into one of you.  You killed him!  He’s dead to me now because of you!” 

 

As they moved her outside, Otabek felt tears gathering in his eyes as a lot of things started to fall into place.  

 

“Yuri, I…”

 

Yuri smiled tightly.  “I didn’t expect to have to call an ambulance, but that’s my mother.”

 

They stood in the apartment for a few more moments, the ghost of the piano music echoing around them like a tangible thing, until Yuri pulled Otabek out with him, closing the door behind him.

 

They were quiet as hey walked to their next destination.  This day was turning out much different than he expected.

 

“The next place I have to take you is to visit another one of my relatives.”

 

Otabek’s stomach dropped when he saw that they were outside of a graveyard.

 

Yuri paid money to a vendor selling roses and walked silently with Otabek between the rows, trudging a clear path.

 

He must have been here hundreds of times before.

 

When they reached the gravestone, Otabek stayed back as Yuri kneeled into the damp earth and placed his rose.

 

“Hi, Aunt Lucinda,” he said softly, “Long time no see.”

 

There was a funeral occurring on the far side of the cemetery, and black cars were lined up waiting to ferry their patrons to other places.

 

“Otabek, this is my aunt Lucinda.  She died when I was four.  She was unmarried, and had no children, and I’ll always hate her for that.”

 

Recoiling as if slapped, Otabek stuttered out, “What…”

 

When they came to a graveyard, he hadn’t expected to hate on the dead.

 

“She knows,” Yuri said as way of explanation, “On her deathbed she apologized to me.  She left me the only living heir to the Dorokhov fortune.”

 

_ No fucking way _

 

The Dorokhovs were a well known and rich family known to anyone familiar with the Russian economy.  They owned a majority share of three of the major manufacturing companies in the country.

 

They were famously wealthy, and famously private people.

 

“Yuri… how did no one know this?  How did no media find out…”

 

Chuckling, Yuri tucked some of his hair back behind his ear, standing up.  “My grandparents went to great lengths to keep that a secret from the press, but that’s another stop on our tour today.”

 

Yuri said some quiet words and stroked the top of the marble.

 

_ Lucinda Dorokhov _

_ Remembered with a song in her heart and a skip in her step. _

 

He mentally noted to make sure he wrote out something much cooler to go on his gravestone should he go out young.

  
  


***

  
  


When they stood outside a church, Otabek stared at the gorgeous stained glass and brick outside.

 

“What stop is this?”

 

“This is where my parents got married,” Yuri said softly, moving inside.  “My grandparents are huge donors here.  My parents got the royal treatment.  Anything to make the marriage smoother so that he can give them a child.”

 

Otabek tensed.  “What… what was your father’s name, Yuri?”

 

They’d wandered into the hallway outside the parish center, where there was a collection of pictures from previous weddings.

 

Yuri stopped in front of a picture, pointing at the plaque next to it.

 

_ Talia and Mikhail Dorokhov _

_ September 15th, 1999 _

 

“Yuri…” Otabek said softly, more puzzle pieces clicking together.  Talia calling him Mikhail, for one, and talking about his whore of a  _ boyfriend. _

 

They left pretty quickly after that.  Yuri led them to a bookshop, and they ducked inside.

 

“What stop is this?”

 

“Ah,” Yuri said, eyes sparkling with excitement, “This is the first place I went when I moved here.  I came and bought every Harry Potter book that they sold.  Living by myself at time was fucking lonely, but I had Hogwarts.”

 

Otabek’s fingers laced with Yuri’s again, giving a reassuring squeeze.

 

The day was starting to weave together, a patchwork quilt of memories, Yuri filling in the gaps with different colored thread until Otabek started to finally  _ see  _ Yuri.

 

Otabek pulled him down suddenly, crushing his lips against Yuri’s.

 

Yuri gasped in surprise, but didn’t pull away, kissing him softly until someone coughed nearby.

 

They pulled apart and exited the store, laughing hysterically.

  
  


***

  
  


“This next stop is a hard one,” Yuri began, “We’re dropping by somewhere unannounced.”

 

Otabek nodded, and Yuri stopped in front of the mansion they had been passing…

 

“No way.  Here?” Otabek’s eyes widened, and Yuri nodded, staring at the gate.

 

“This is my grandparent’s house.”

 

The Kazakh man looked up, too.  The house was easily worth a few million, and that was just from peering from the outside.

 

When Yuri pressed past the gate and rung the buzzer, Otabek realized that Yuri had been peering to his right, looking mutinous.

 

When the maid opened the door, Yuri held up his phone.

 

There were dozens of pictures, Otabek saw, of… them throughout the day.  All of them with…

 

Otabek’s whole body seized up in fear.

 

There was the same man following them the entire day.

 

“I have proof that they’re following me,” Yuri said bitingly, “I’m sending the pics to grandfather.  Tell him that he stops or I’m forwarding this to the police next.  Tell him that my mother is to stay in the hospital”

 

The maid’s eyes rounded in fear, nodding frantically, before slamming the door.

 

When the two of them turned around, the man that had been following them started walking quickly away, tucking his face into his hoodie.

 

“Yuri… how did you know?”

 

There was a gentle wind that blew by them, and Yuri smiled halfheartedly.  “A friend of mine let me in.  We’ll be meeting her later.”

 

The two of them settled into a small French restaurant for lunch.  Otabek was gazing at Yuri, or more appropriately, he was gazing at a stranger.

 

“You’re looking at me funny,” Yuri accused, pointing his fork at his companion.

 

“No I’m not,” Otabek countered, knowing that he wasn’t convincing anyone.

 

“Yes, you fucking are,” Yuri grabbed a piece of the bread of the table, gnawing off a bit of it.  “The first part of the day was the past.”

 

The older man nodded. “The next part of the day?”

 

“The present.”

  
  


***

  
  


When they arrived outside of a small, luxurious home, and Yuri unlocked the gate, he was confused.  “Don’t you live with your mother?”

 

Yuri cast his gaze down.  “I haven’t lived with her for weeks.  This is Viktor and Yuuri’s place.  I’ve been staying with them.”

 

They moved into the cavernous entryway, with dark wooden flooring and silver accents, paint on the wall a pleasant forest green.

 

“I live upstairs,” Yuri said into the echoing expanse, moving towards the stairs. 

 

“Where are Viktor and Yuuri?”

 

“They’re getting in a lot of practice today and for the next week because they’ll have to take  leave of absence from training for a little while.”

 

At Otabek’s questioning stare, Yuri knocked on a door at the top of the stairs.  “This is the room that Yuuri and Viktor kept trying to be secretive going in and out of.  I didn’t know what they were up to until yesterday…”

 

The door unlocked under his hand, and he stepped inside, turning on the light.  

 

Otabek felt himself gape.

 

“They overdid it,” Yuri laughed, “this is fucking adorable.”

 

The walls were painted a sky blue with clouds, and on one side there was a crib.  Attached to the crib, like they were flying away, were hundreds of painted 3-D balloons, like the crib had been whisked away with the passing breeze.  There were things associated with the sky everywhere.  Here was a bird mobile, there were stuffed animals overflowing in one corner, and the light overhead had beams of yellow around it like a sun.

 

“They’re… they’re adopting?” Otabek asked, running his fingers along the print on the wall.

 

_ Hazel Lilia Katsuki-Nikiforov _

_ Let nothing hold you back from taking flight _

 

Yuri was touching the words on the other side, done in silver paint on the wall.

 

“I’m going to be a big brother,” Yuri said quietly, and Otabek wondered if he’d meant to say it out loud.

 

They moved into Yuri’s room next, which Otabek immediately felt at home in.

 

This was the Yuri that he fell in love with, he thought.  The tiger and cheetah prints adorned the walls, the cat stuffed animals and the posters of punk rock bands.  Yuri fell onto his queen-sized bed, smiling up at Otabek.

 

“Nap time?”

 

The older skater blinked.  “Is this a part of the tour?”

 

Yuri shook his head.  “We have some time until the next stop, though.”

 

Falling onto the bed next to him, Otabek kept his distance.  They were an arm’s length away from each other, gazing at each other on their sides.

 

“Who are you, Yuri Plisetsky?”

 

Yuri clearly wasn’t expecting the question, because he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

 

“There’s a lot to tell, Beka.  Most of it can’t be done in one day.”

 

“Start, then.  I’ve pieced most of it together, but maybe you could fill in the blanks?”

 

Yuri sighed.  “My father started seeing his partner when I was two.”

 

The heavy silence that followed made Otabek’s ears ring.  

 

“He stayed with my mother, but eventually she found out.  We weren’t sure if that’s what sent her over the edge, but she was hospitalized with homicidal ideation.  My father stayed with me for a year, but after that got to be too hard he ran off with his boyfriend for a fresh start.”

 

Yuri pulled one of his stuffed animals onto his lap, and Otabek scooched closer to Yuri, placing his head on the other man’s stomach.  

 

“My grandpa raised me then, until I turned twelve and started training under Yakov and moved to St. Petersburg.  That was when my grandparents started grooming me.  I was the sole living surviving member of the family to inherit their fortune.  They were desperate.  They set me up in an apartment with a guardian who checked in on me daily and made sure I had food and got to the rink safely.  They also had me over for dinner biweekly.  When I was younger, it was just them buying me expensive toys or playing board games with me.  When I got a little older, and I started wearing racy clothing and braiding my hair, they started to realize that I might not be the ideal fit for their heir.”

 

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Yuri started running his hand soothingly over Otabek’s back.

 

“When that happened, they forcibly removed my mother from her institution.  I didn’t see it as a threat back then, I was just happy that she wasn’t locked up anymore.  She was their person on the inside, though.  If I lived with my mother, who hated my father for being gay and blames it on ruining her life, then maybe it would divert my…  _ preoccupations. _ ”

 

The whole world was starting to rumble beneath Otabek. Pieces of the puzzle were flying together, rapidfire.

 

“Then the Grand Prix Final where I won gold happened.  They were able to stomach that I looked kind of feminine in my costumes.  What they weren’t able to stomach, however, was our stunt we pulled.”

 

Otabek was shaking now.  

 

“When I got back, they made it very clear that they had been bankrolling me for my whole life, as well as bankrolling my living arrangements and my mother’s living arrangements.  My mother played piano for a living.  She didn’t have enough to support herself, and was always in and out of the hospital.  The bills alone would have tanked us if grandfather hadn’t been so willing to pay them.  They promised me they’d continue helping us, as long as I played a part.”

 

Otabek’s fingers bunched up a bit of Yuri’s shirt, anger making him start to feel nauseous.

 

“They’ve been having me followed for years.  I knew, on some level, but I never bothered going out of my way to check.  I figured it would be easier if I didn’t know.  I staged parties where I’d hook up with girls.  Sometimes I even let them in on it so that they knew how to pose for the camera.  It was a simple game.  They told me that if I showed any inkling that I was still with you, they’d let my mother go on the street.  They also, apparently, had grandpa to hold over me, too.”

 

Yuri took a deep breath, wiping his eyes, “Fuck.  Look Beka, I’m crying now.  That wasn’t part of the tour…”

 

His breathing became rapid for a moment, and Otabek quickly shuffled up the bed and pulled Yuri to his chest, shushing him and pressing kisses into his hair as he cried silently.

 

They laid there for a while until they both fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't Yuuri and Viktor going to be the cutest parents? Also I just had to make Yuri a Potterhead
> 
> The tour will continue in the next chapter! Next time: Otabek meets Emma, and Yuri sees how far his grandparents are willing to go to prove a point 
> 
> If you like this fic, check out my other YOI fics, "Tabula Rasa" and "The Silver Devils Play"


	10. Basil Paints a New Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and Otabek go to Emma's show at the club. Afterwards, they are met with a nasty surprise. Later, Yuuri and Viktor get bad news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey howdy!
> 
> This chapter is exploring more of the tour that day, with a smutty callback. We also see the consequences of Yuri's decision to leave his family. 
> 
> FYI I've now finished the entire fic and am just in editing mode!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: implied violence and homophobia, as well as explicit sexual content. If this fic makes you feel some type of way, reach out to a loved one. Go to the store and get body paint. Paint fun designs on each other and take fun pictures.
> 
> As usual, I don't own Yuri! on Ice

“Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives,” -Oscar Wilde

 

At seven, they stood outside of a crowded club.  

 

Instead of going to the line, which had just started letting people in, Yuri ducked to the alley leading around back, where a truck full of people were unloading instruments.

 

“Yuri!” came a female voice, and a girl in an almost see-through sleek black dress and high-heeled booties ran up to Yuri, jumping up and tackling him.

 

Yuri brushed her long honey-blonde hair back, hugging her tightly.  “Emma, I’d like you to meet…”

 

“Otabek,” she finished helpfully, beaming at the older man, who was at a loss for words.

 

A strong man in a wheelchair followed her over and took her hand when he got close.

 

“Otabek, this is Stefan, Emma’s boyfriend.  Stefan, this is Otabek.”

 

Stefan was eyeing Otabek warily, and the older man couldn’t help but fidget at the attention.

 

“Come on,” Yuri said, walking towards the car, “If we help them set up we don’t have to pay cover.”

 

Otabek nodded stupidly, and soon a high strung kid named Peter was directing him to bring sound equipment in.  He was suddenly in his element, and found himself talking for the first time.

 

“You know, I have experience with a lot of this,” Otabek explained to Peter as he started wiring up the speakers like a pro.  “I DJ in my spare time.”

 

Peter squealed like an excited girl.  “No.  Way.  Emma!  Why haven’t we met this kid before?”

 

“He doesn’t live in town, dufus,” Emma poked his side playfully, helping set up the keyboard.

 

The man in the wheelchair was transferring, now, to another wheelchair, that Otabek whistled at.  

 

“It’s called Rockin’ Chair,” Emma said affectionately, kissing her boyfriend on the cheek when he was settled in the new one.  There were neon paints up the side in geometric shapes, and the top was covered in flowers.  There were metal spiked off the handles, and on the back there were battery-operated flashing lights.

 

“That is sick,” Otabek said appreciatively. 

 

When the band was finished setting up, Yuri led Otabek to get drinks, then settled into couches by the stage.

 

“How did you meet them?”

 

Yuri gazed thoughtfully at Emma, and Otabek felt jealousy pool in his stomach, though he knew it was ridiculous…

 

“I introduced myself to Emma a few months back.  She was performing with her band. I got her number, and we dated for three months.”

 

Yuri took a careful sip of his drink as Otabek glared at him.

 

“She knew that I wasn’t sure about my sexuality, and that she was a ruse for my grandparents.  Her only request is that if I wasn’t sure, to give her a fair shot.”

 

Yuri pointed towards a spot on the floor suddenly.  “That’s where I kissed her, and couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

 

Following his line of sight, Otabek saw it now, like a movie in slow motion: two beautiful blondes bent together on the dance floor.

 

Yuri stood up suddenly and tugged Otabek with him moving towards the back of the club.  When they got to a hallway, Yuri tried a closet door and it unlocked.  Then, Yuri pulled Otabek inside.

 

Taking their drinks and carefully propping them on a shelf, he pinned Otabek to a wall.

 

“This is where I took her to hook up, and could only think of you, so much so that I couldn’t do anything but punch the wall,” his fingers stroked the brick behind Otabek’s head, “all I could hear was your voice, I could only feel your hands…”

 

Otabek leaned forward to catch Yuri’s lips in a kiss.  They made out slow and happily for a few minutes, before Otabek pushed back suddenly, pinning Yuri against the opposite wall.

 

“What…?” the blonde asked, but Otabek just reached down to Yuri’s crotch and cupped the flesh there. 

 

“I want to know exactly what you were imagining me doing,” Otabek growled, biting at Yuri’s collarbone.  “I want to know it down to the last detail.”

 

Yuri’s pupils were dilating, and he whispered, “I… I imagined that you were pawing me through my pants.”

 

“Like this?” Otabek purred, pressing his hand on Yuri’s cock at half mast.

 

“Yeah,” Yuri closed his eyes, whispering, “Then I imagined you unzipping my pants and sucking me off.”

 

“Are you sure?” Otabek’s eyes were playful.  “Are you sure you saw me suck you off?  Are you sure I didn’t fuck you into the wall?”

 

Shivering, Yuri shook his head, grinning a little bit.  “It’s my imagination, Otabek.”

 

The older man nodded, unzipping Yuri’s pants and fixing him with a knowing stare as he knelt down on his knees on the concrete floor, pulling Yuri’s hardness out of his pants.

 

“Hmmm,” Otabek licked a long stripe up Yuri’s member, tongue licking at the slit and traveling higher on his body, biting at the delicate skin right above his shaft.  Yuri was trembling, giving himself over to the sensation.

 

Otabek started sucking at the skin there, and Yuri was hissing now, because Otabek was so close to where he desperately needed relief but still too far.

 

“Beka,” Yuri whimpered, fingers running through his hair impatiently, “Don’t tease.”

 

Otabek looked up mischievously.  “I’m not teasing.  I want to make this good for you.  I want this to feel like you’re on cloud nine.  You’ve spent enough time faking your way through encounters like this.  I want you to remember tonight, when someone you actually want is doing to you what you’ve always wanted.”

 

Bright green eyes were staring at Otabek, full of emotion, speechless, until Otabek dove back in and nipped lightly at the head, making Yuri gasp, eyes closing.  

 

Otabek was always good at getting his message across.

 

As he sucked Yuri down, lips encircling Yuri’s cock tenderly, he thought about the first time they had had sex: it was all teeth and lust and… desperation.  Now, as Otabek listened intently to Yuri’s moans, as his fingers traced patterns over the blonde’s exposed torso, it was all about trust and guidance and finding each other through their bodies.

 

The music in the club was starting up, the band warming up, and with the increase in sound Yuri felt more comfortable being louder with his gasping noises, masked by the heavy base and singing.

 

When Yuri came, and Otabek swallowed him down dutifully, Yuri almost slid to the ground with how weak and spent he felt.

 

The older man caught him, hugging him close, whispering sweet nothings in Yuri’s ear.  He tucked him back in and zipped his pants up, placing a tender kiss to Yuri’s temple.

 

Otabek wondered, briefly, how he could ever think he would just leave tonight.

 

When they got back inside, quite a few people were dancing as the band started their first set.  Otabek pulled Yuri close and they danced together, tight and giggling and goofy, and soon they stole the spotlight, the people around them making room for their laughing enjoyment.

 

As Yuri pulled Otabek up for a kiss, the whole club around them cheered, and it was clear to Otabek that they were probably posting all over social media about the very public figure skater making out with another very famous figure skater.

 

Yet, Yuri didn’t seem to have a care in the world about it.

 

People started dancing with them, and they switched in and out, laughing and jumping up and down, a few of the people around them complimenting them on what a cute couple they were.

 

Yuri looked a little taken aback at that, but Otabek only pulled Yuri to his side, so that they were pressed close together, and smiled.  “Yeah, he’s mine.”

 

Behind a few strands of blonde hair Yuri looked up at Otabek, pale fingers clutching at his sleeve for dear life.  “Does… does that mean…?”

 

Leaning down, Otabek caught Yuri in a searing kiss, and Otabek bit Yuri’s lip tenderly as they pulled away, eyes full of lust.

 

“I didn’t need to make it to midnight, Yura,” Otabek leaned up so that his lips were against Yuri’s ear, so that he could still hear him despite the music, “I’ve been yours this whole time.”

 

Yuri wrapped his arms around Otabek, encircling him in a bone-crushing hug, cheeks pressed up against each other.

 

They found each other’s hands and clasped them together, swaying to the music, and Otabek had never felt so… whole.

 

The rest of the night flew by in a blur.  Yuri and Otabek couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but decided against excusing themselves to the closet a second time.  Instead they met up with the band during breaks and laughed with them, Otabek chatting with Peter about sound mixing.  A few times he glanced over at Yuri, whose head was bent close with Emma’s, and they were switching between talking seriously, laughing, and glancing over in Otabek’s direction.

 

At some point, Otabek sauntered over to them and asked them what they were talking about, and Emma just smiled dazzlingly up at him.  “I was telling him that I approved.”

 

After the night was over, and they helped the band pack up, Emma caught Otabek’s sleeve and pulled him to the side while Yuri was busy loading the car outside.

 

They ducked behind a curtain, and Emma fixed Otabek with a heated stare.  Her mascara had run a little bit through the night, and her hair was pulled back into a long ponytail.  Jade green eyes studied Otabek carefully.

 

“I don’t know how much Yuri has told you about his grandparents.”

 

Otabek felt a little defensive, thinking that Emma could know more than him.  “He’s explained.”

 

“How much?”

 

When Otabek couldn’t answer, she sighed, pressing her glasses farther up her nose.

 

“They’re bad news, Otabek.  I was only fake dating him and they had been having me followed.  They knew I had a secret affair with Stefan at the time.  They knew how late I was staying at gigs.  They offered to bribe me to stay with Yuri, enough money to keep me from ever having to work again, and they offered me a two million dollar guitar as a sign of good faith.”

 

For a moment, Otabek wondered how all of this could be real life.  That there could be people that shitty out there, roaming around the world and fucking up the lives of someone he cared about, someone he loved.

 

“Why are you telling me this?” his tone was uncertain.  Was she trying to scare him away?

 

Emma softened then, a soft smile dawning on her face.  “I’m not trying to tell you to leave him.  I know that that won’t happen.  It’s just that, with Yuri, it’s hard for him to remember that they are terrible people because they’re family.  He still loves them, even though they’ve treated him so badly.  It’s our job to make sure that he doesn’t let them hurt him again.”

 

_ Our  _ job, like they were a team.  Suddenly, Otabek realized that he was nervous for all the wrong reasons.  This girl wasn’t a threat to him.  She loved Yuri, and so did he, and that put them on the same side.

 

“For what it’s worth, Yuri seems so happy with you.  I’ve never seen him smile so much in one night,” she squeezed Otabek’s hand, and they went out to the car together.  Stefan and Emma were taking her car and the rest of the band was meeting them with the equipment at the house.

 

They were going to have a small after party at Stefan’s, and Emma even offered to drive them home afterwards.  Yuri lit up at the thought, looking at Otabek hopefully, and the other man couldn’t resist those huge puppy dog eyes.

 

Otabek learned a long time ago that Yuri was his greatest weakness.

 

When they got to the apartment, they all loaded the equipment into a wagon they had handy, and went up in the elevator chatting idly about music and who was the most drunk and which of the songs the crowd liked the most when…

 

They reached the floor and got off, where Stefan and Emma were standing outside their door.

 

Yuri went to call out to them, but his voice died in his throat as Emma’s eyes locked on Yuri’s, tears brimming, making the green sparkle like a gem.

 

He dropped what he was holding and ran over, Otabek following close behind, but when they looked into the apartment they both froze, eyes wide.

 

The place had clearly been ransacked.  Their personal items were spilled on the floor, photographs and books, dishes in little porcelain pieces on the ground.

 

In the middle of the living room, standing proudly on a stand, was the driftwood guitar, perfectly polished, with a huge red bow.

  
  


***

  
  


When Yuri and Otabek walked into Viktor and Yuuri’s place at two am, after giving their statements to the police and silently taking a taxi back, Yuri rounded on Otabek.

 

“I was wrong,” Yuri said fiercely, his eyes wide and terrified, hands shaking at his sides.  “I was wrong to bring you here.  I shouldn’t have, because if they took it out on Emma, they’ll take it out on you, too…”

 

Otabek immediately pulled the taller man to him, hugging him tightly.  “Shh, I’m not afraid.  We can beat this.  The police will make sure that whoever they hired gets caught.”

 

He pushed away from Otabek, running his fingers through his hair, backing away slowly.  “No, you don’t understand, they have contacts everywhere.  I can’t risk you getting hurt.  I can’t…”

 

“Yuri, calm down…”

 

A light turned on, and Viktor was staring at the two of them, eyes squinted.

 

“Otabek?” Viktor asked, confused.  “Yuri, I didn’t know that Otabek was staying tonight.”

 

Yuri cursed, whispering, “I’m sorry, I forgot to text…”

 

“That’s fine,” Viktor cut him off, yawning.  “What’s wrong?  You don’t look okay.  Yura?”

 

Yuri was shaking again, and he leaned against the wall now, sliding down until his knees were brought to his chest.

 

“This is all so much,” Yuri said honestly, “First mama’s in the hospital again, then Emma’s apartment got trashed…”

 

Viktor, who was basically sleepwalking a seconds ago,  woke up in seconds, the seriousness of the situation hitting him full force.  Viktor knelt down in front of Yuri, taking the younger man’s hands in his own.

 

“Yura, you’re safe here.  I don’t know what happened to Emma’s apartment, but we’ll take care of it.  We’re a family now, yeah?”

 

Tears gathered in Yuri’s eyes, and he wiped them away.  “Yeah, you’re right.  I’m sorry.”

 

“What happened?” Viktor asked delicately, looking up at Otabek for help.

 

“We think that Yuri’s grandfather hired someone to send him a message.  They broke into Stefan’s apartment and fucked it up, and left a guitar there as a calling card.”

 

Lips set into a thin line, he asked cautiously, “Where are they staying?”

 

“Emma’s,” Yuri said softly, started to look a little more calm.  

 

“Okay.  Tell them that if they need another place to stay, they are welcome here.  Yuri, it’s going to be okay.  They can’t hurt you anymore.”

 

“Yeah,” Yuri’s eyes were a little unfocused as he said that, and Otabek delicately reached down for his hands and gently tugged him to stand up, hugging him close.

 

“We’ll get through this, Yura.”

 

Viktor led the two of them upstairs and told them that if they needed anything not to hesitate to wake them.  Yuri and him stripped down to their boxers and crawled under the covers, worn out from the emotional roller coaster of the day.

 

When Otabek clicked the light off, he felt Yuri’s arms encircle him, huddling close, warm tears spotting his chest from Yuri’s eyes.

 

“Today was supposed to show that I’d gotten out of their games, that I’d moved on.  Instead they just proved that they can still get to me.”

 

Otabek stroked his hair gently, whispering, “Don’t focus on that, Yura.  Focus on something else, yeah?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I’m staying for a little while.  I… I don’t know how long, and I still don’t know where we’ll stand, but I’m going to try to figure it out with you.  I’m going to give this, us, a chance.”

 

There was a soft feathering of kisses against the skin of his shoulder, and the safety and comfort of the man he loved breathing softly next to him.  There were few moments in Otabek’s life that he felt more at peace.

 

It was just nagging in the back of his mind, the concern that Emma had laid out.

 

That Yuri couldn’t see clearly, because he still loved them.

 

Sighing, he drifted off, reveling in the closeness and hoping that things would be better in the morning.

  
  


***

 

The next morning, the four of them got ready to go to practice.  Otabek spent twenty minutes convincing his coach to let him train in St. Petersburg for a few weeks, and instead of an answer he hung up on Otabek.

 

“He’ll come around,” the older man assured Yuri as they sat in the back of Yuuri and Viktor’s car en route to the rink.

 

Practice was more fun for Yuri than it’d been in a long time.  Mila was teasing him about having Otabek there, Yakov was going easy on Yuri because of how well he did in the showcase.  Viktor was helping Otabek with his quadruple flip.

 

The whole rink moved aside when Otabek elected to demonstrate his quad lutz, everyone cheering and asking for pointers.

 

Practice went long, that day.  Everyone went to Yuuri and Viktor’s afterward and they had an impromptu party.  Otabek and Yuri were very close, never letting the other go.  Be it a hand on a back, pinkies joined, or thighs touching on the couch, they couldn’t get enough.

 

Mila giggled, the wine in her hand almost empty.  “Yuri, you  _ have  _ to tell us how this happened,” she gestured towards Otabek’s arm around Yuri’s shoulder, and they looked at each other, a little out of their depth.

 

They hadn’t talked about labels yet, and they still weren’t really sure what everyone would think about their past.

 

“It’s a long story…”

 

Georgi grumbled.  “You guys hear all about my love life, it’s only fair.”

 

“Yeah, Yuri,” Viktor asked, eyebrows raised.  In all the discussions with Viktor and Yuuri of Otabek and his grandparents, Yuri had managed to glance over the two of them sleeping together a few months ago.  He’d neglected to mention calling Otabek to come, and exactly what he was planning when the Kazakh man got there.  He’d left everyone, for the most part, in the dark.

 

Yakov, Mila, Georgi, Yuuri, and Otabek were all watching him with interest.  

 

“We, um, are still figuring it out,” Yuri said, then his confidence came back to him in a snap.  “Plus it isn’t any of your business who I’m fucking, Mila.”

 

The whole room was quiet, until Viktor gasped, “You two had  _ sex _ ?  But Yurio we haven’t had the sex talk yet…”

 

“That’s  _ not my name _ ,” he snarled, blushing bright red.  He hadn’t really thought about the implications of saying what he said, but now Yakov was carefully avoiding eye contact with him, scandalized.

 

“Well, anyway,” Mila continued, downing the rest of her drink, “I think it’s time to play charades!”

 

“That’s my cue,” Yakov excused himself and Viktor walked him out.

 

They spent the rest of the night playing games and eventually watched a few movies.  Georgi and Mila passed out in the living room, and Otabek an Yuri excused themselves to the upstairs.

 

They took each other apart tenderly, kisses and gasps and hums melting together, rutting against each other to get off.  When they spilled between themselves, Yuri got up to get a small washcloth to clean them off.

 

Then Yuri curled up next to Otabek, eyelids drooping.

 

“It’s hard to remember sometimes, but I already have a family.”

 

Otabek felt warmth flood through him, hoping that the younger skater included him in that group.  “Yeah, Yura.  They’re pretty great.”

 

 

***

 

When they woke up the next morning, Yuri opened his door and fell over, laughing hysterically.

 

Otabek’s dark face turned bright red as he took in the box of condoms on the floor outside of their bedroom.

 

_ Glove before love! - Y + V _

 

“Shit…” Yuri struggled to get up, snatching the condoms up and throwing them in his nightstand.  

 

They went down for breakfast, where Viktor was happily serving everyone oatmeal banana pancakes, with Yuuri watching warily from the other side of the counter.

 

“These are amazing,” Mila mumbled through bites, and Georgi nodded enthusiastically.

 

They all ate together, Yuri and Otabek talking with Viktor about their programs.

 

It was another enjoyable day at the rink.  They broke for lunch, then Yuri was supposed to meet with Lilia to go over flexibility and form.  Otabek stayed at the rink and worked with Yuuri and Viktor on his program.

 

When Yuri wasn’t around Otabek anymore, he started twitching, his hand having no natural place to settle, his eyes having no person to study carefully.  Lilia kept snapping that his mind wasn’t with his performance, and she was right.

 

After a few hours, Yuri walked into the house, and heard shouting.

 

“...completely unprofessional.  The law was changed.  It is perfectly… sir, I will not be talked to with that tone…”

 

Yuri poked his head into the living room, where Yuuri was crying into Otabek’s shoulder, and Viktor was yelling on the phone again.

 

“Yuuri, what…”

 

Yuuri shook his head, grabbing onto Otabek and looking at his fiercely.  “Say nothing.”

 

Viktor ducked out of the room, but Yuri felt the chills run down his spine.

 

“What did they do?”

 

Otabek got up, walking delicately towards Yuri, who felt like he was about to shatter, any wrong move and he’d fall to pieces.  

 

“They… there isn’t any proof that it was them.  That would be speculation…”

 

Yuri pushed past Otabek and knelt in front of Yuuri, who was trying to dry his tears hastily.

 

“It’s Hazel, isn’t it?”

 

Yuuri choked out another sob, clutching Yuri to him desperately.  “They… they’re reviewing the case again.  They gave us the confirmation the other night, but... they became suddenly concerned with our status as a gay couple.”

 

It was a strange feeling, but as Yuri felt the sensation of shattering, it wasn’t like he himself was shattering.  Instead it was like a thin membrane of glass shattered off of him, and he was clutching the shards, ready to strike.

 

Yuri left, Otabek on his heels.

 

“Yuri, where are you going?  What are you doing?”

 

“I have to end this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...cliffhanger! Sorry guys this was the best natural stopping point. 
> 
> Next time: Yuri confronts his grandparents, and the conversation takes an unexpected turn.
> 
> If you like this, check out my other two YOI fics, "The Silver Devils Play" and "Tabula Rasa"


	11. Dorian Confronts his Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and his grandparents face off, and they say something that he was not expecting. Yuuri, Viktor, and Otabek rally to support him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hi hello friends
> 
> So this is the second to last chapter. I'm so close to finishing the epilogue. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for going on this wild ride with me. It's been a pleasure.
> 
> As usual, I do not own Yuri! on Ice

“The basis of optimism is sheer terror,” -Oscar Wilde

 

The Dorokhovs were sitting in the parlor, staring at each other with sadness in their eyes.  Natasha stirred her drink.  Her normally tight braided hair was falling around her in a mess of silver, and she took a fourth shot of vodka.

 

The two of them were silent as they drank their drinks.  The butler occasionally replenished their cups, eyeing them with trepidation.

 

The two usually extravagantly dressed Russian aristocrats looked as if someone had left them out in a particularly windy storm for too long.  Their faces were red from drinking, eyes watering from emotion.  Their hair was lank compared to the usual coiffed.  

 

In fact, they looked extremely out of place in their polished parlor, shiny floors reflected their shame right back at them.

 

“It’s over, dear,” Edgar said finally, eyes red from crying.  “We were selfish and stupid.  All of this was selfish and stupid.”

 

Natasha finished her drink, snapping, “It wasn’t stupid.  We were trying to save his soul.”

 

“Now, though, darling,” Edgar got up, leaving his drink and pleading with her, “It’s over.  It’s time we take the first step.”

 

Natasha hissed, throwing her glass across the hall in frustration, the glass shattering into a kaleidoscope of reflected light across the floor.  “Damn it all!  Why had the world taken so much from us…”

 

Edgar encircled his tall, proud wife in a hug, and she shook with anger, tears sprinkling from her eyes.

 

The front door banged open, and walking into the foyer was Yuri, still in his practice clothes, blonde hair braided back and green eyes fiery in their rage.

 

“How  _ fucking dare you,” _ Yuri yelled, marching toward them, fists shaking.  

 

“Yuri, slow down, let’s talk about this…” Edgar moved in front of his wife, who looked ravenous.  

 

It was difficult when family takes after family.

 

Natasha let out an angry yell, but Edgar shushed her.

 

“What do you have to say for yourselves?  Going after Emma?  Going after Yuuri and Viktor?”

 

Edgar glanced back at Natasha, and the two of them grimly nodded.

 

“We had forgotten that we did that, honestly,” Edgar said slowly.

 

“You… forgot?”  Yuri was furious, hands shaking, blonde hair falling in his face.  He looked like a wild animal.

 

_ The ice tiger of Russia, in the flesh. _

 

“Yuri, sit down, we need to…”

 

“No, I don’t owe you anything.  You can’t ask anything from me.  I don’t care what strings you have to pull, or who you have to contact, but damn it  _ you will _ pay for all of Emma’s broken things and  _ you will _ get Viktor and Yuuri their adoption approval put back through.”

 

Edgar closed his eyes, emotional exhaustion from the day weighing heavily on every square inch of him.  This was one of the few times in his life that he has truly and fully felt, well,  _ old _ .

 

“Of course.”

 

“...what?”

 

“Of course we will,” Edgar could feel his throat closing up.  “Of course we’ll do everything we can.”

 

Yuri froze, completely taken off guard.  “You... “ but he was studying the two of them carefully now, in their state of disrepair, at the shattered glass on the floor.

 

The young man grimaced.  “What happened here?”

 

“Sit down, Yuri.”

 

Looking caught, deer in the headlights, Yuri glanced over at the couch, not wanting to obey the order but needing to know what was going on.

 

Eventually, curiosity won out, and the blonde boy sat across from them, eyeing them with disdain.

 

“Yuri, we got a call today from Yustev.”

 

Yuri’s whole body reacted to the name like they’d threatened to punch him.  He recoiled, falling back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Their grandson was clearly expecting anything but that.

 

“It’s your father, Yuri.  He passed away last night from a heart attack.”

  
  


***

  
  


Four days later, Yuri was in a small cemetery in France.  Viktor, Yuuri, and Otabek had all come with him for the funeral service.

 

His grandparents were dressed in their best funeral clothes, attending their second child’s burial.  

 

There had been quite a few tears shed between them and Yuri, and angry words, but they’d worked out some sort of truce with Yuri that they would pay their respects to the dead without fighting it out over the coffin.

 

Yuri’s mother was not taken out of the hospital, this time.  She went back to the long-term care facility she had been in two years ago, and his grandparents had assured him that she’d be taken care of, financially.  They even bought the place a piano.

 

The death of their only son had put things into perspective for Edgar and Natasha Dorokhov.  They pleaded with Yuri to give them a chance at forgiveness, to become a family again.

 

Yuri had yet to give them an answer.

 

As they stood over the body being lowered into the ground, a man with salt and pepper hair and dark sun-kissed skin walked over to Yuri, taking his hand.

 

“Yuri, it was good of you to come.”

 

“Yustev,” he said stiffly, “Of course I would come.  He’s my father.”

 

The older man nodded, eyeing Yuri warily.  “I have something for you.  Open it when you’re home and immediately get rid of it.  My contact information is in the envelope, put it in your phone before destroying it.”

 

He handed a manilla envelope over, and Yuri tucked it into his suit pocket quietly.  This man wouldn’t do anything to hurt Yuri.  He had no ulterior motive.  Yuri could see the swirling darkness in Yustev’s small brown eyes; his soul mate was gone, and he had nothing left to lose.

 

Otabek clutched Yuri’s hand through the service, and when they were on the plane later that evening, they curled up against each other and just slept through the whole flight, buried in each other’s arms.

  
  


***

  
  


Two days later, he sat with the envelope in front of him, Otabek standing to his left.

 

“Do you want me to…”

 

“No,” Yuri assured him, taking a measured breath.  “I just need a minute.”

 

Then, carefully, he unsealed the envelope.  It was a letter, and a few pictures fell out.  They were of Yustev, Mikhail, and…

 

“Beka,” Yuri choked out, pointing at the tiny girl on the picture with them.  “Beka, I think…”

 

“Read it,” Otabek prodded, and Yuri dove into the letter.

 

_ Dearest Yuri, _

 

_ It is with a heavy heart that I must pen this to you.  I never wanted to have to contact you again, for your own sake.  I know that when you think of me, you must only remember pain and hardship. _

 

_ Your father loved you to the moon and back.  He was so worried that his parents would mold you into another homophobic puppet that he didn’t pause to wonder whether you were suffering the same fate he did.   _

 

_ When he saw the picture of you and your boyfriend online, he booked a plane ticket.  He was going to fly out and see you, and explain things.  He wanted to patch things up.  It was his last wish, so though it is not quite the same, I want to extend my own version of an olive branch. _

 

_ This is Lucy.  She’s eleven, now.  Biologically, she is your half sister.  She was born from a surrogate.  My contact information is below.  If there is ever a day that you would like to arrange to meet her, I’d be honored to make that happen. _

 

_ The condition is that your grandparents must not know about her.  If they did, she’ll just become another one of their puppets.  I cannot let that happen, as you could imagine.   _

 

_ Please burn this letter after reading.  You may keep one of the photos, however, of her when she was just three.  I think she looks a lot like you in that one.   _

 

_ I know that  you’ve been through so much, Yuri.  I’d understand if this is all still too soon. _

 

_ She really is a smart girl.  An athlete, too.  She’s shown a lot of promise in swimming.  Maybe you’ll see her at the Olympics, one day. _

 

_ Please consider my offer, _

_ Yustev _

 

_ PS: I know it isn’t worth much, but I’m proud of the man you have become.  You’ll do great things.  I’ll be rooting for you. _

 

Spellbound, Yuri picked through the photos for the one he was referring to.  Once he found it, he discovered that Yustev was right; the way her green eyes sparkled, and how her hair was still platinum blonde (instead of her later light brown), she did look like him.  He traced the curve of her cheek, touching his own in turn.

 

“You’re a brother,” Otabek whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his head.  

 

“I’m…”  when he was about to finish that sentence, the door clattered open, and Yuuri and Viktor shouted, “We’re back!  With the cutest bundle of joy you ever laid eyes on.”

 

Yuri bolted for the entryway.  Yuuri was bringing in a handful of objects, and Viktor was carefully bouncing a tiny  _ smooshy  _ thing, with wide eyes and puffy cheeks and an adorable button nose.

 

“Yurio, meet Hazel.  Your little sister,” Viktor handed her off and Yuri started to panic at the thought of holding her, but Viktor showed him the right way, and soon he was holding her up against his chest.  Her fingers were clutching at his jacket curiously, and she leaned back to look at him, placing tiny fingers on his nose and in his mouth.

 

“Those don’t taste very good,” Yuri mumbled, but his heart positively melted.

 

They quickly set to work finishing the house off for all the last minute baby things.  Viktor insisted that they get her a bouncy chair for every room in the house, and added even more baby proofing than was already there.

 

“Viktor,” Yuuri chided, pressing kiss after kiss onto Hazel’s soft head as though he was worried that if he didn’t she would disappear, “We’ve gone over this house, like, eight times.”

 

“Nine was always my lucky number,” Viktor argued.

 

Yuri grumbled, “I thought it was seven.”

 

“Ah, well, luck changes from day to day,” Viktor said, putting even more foam on corners of things, “I want to be prepared for everything.”

 

After a few hours Yuri finally convinced Yuuri and Viktor to go take showers and get some alone time.  Yuri bounced Hazel on his lap, watching her wide blue eyes stare up at him in fascination.

 

“I’m a brother,” Yuri tested, then raised Hazel up above his head.  She giggled and kicked her legs enthusiastically.

 

Otabek tickled her tummy and smiled.  “You know, I have a little sister.”

 

Shocked, Yuri muttered, “you never told me.”

 

“Maybe, sometime, I could take you on a tour of Almaty.  Show you my past, present, and future.”

 

Yuri nodded, his face full of emotion.  They still had so much to learn about each other.  Their love story was only just beginning.  It was bright and shiny and new and brimming with possibilities.

 

“Only if it’s on the motorcycle.”

 

Nodding, Otabek let Hazel nibble on his finger.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  
  


***

  
  


Yuri and Yakov had decided that Yuri’s theme for the next season would be “home”.

 

“Home, as I’ve discovered, is not a place, but a feeling.  It’s the feeling of holding a baby in your arms.  It’s the feeling when those you love surround you in support and safety.  It’s the feeling you get when your boyfriend introduces you to his family, and they welcome you like an honored guest.

 

“I’ve known a lot of homes in my life, but I’ve never felt more at home than with the people I love, in the place I’ve come to call my own.  I’m so incredibly grateful to everyone who has shown me love and support.  You are all my home.”

 

It was sappy and stupid and he had almost cried reading it, but if he’d learned anything in his last few months, it’s that strength doesn’t lie in holding back your emotions.  It lies in letting the emotions loose, and caring for yourself afterward.  It lies in surviving the impossible.

 

Yuri, as it turns out, was pretty spectacular at it.

  
  


***

  
  


The warm autumn light was filtering through the trees.  Yuri sat outside the small restaurant, his foot tapping incessantly against the cobblestone patio.

 

“You’re going to injure yourself doing that,” Otabek chastised, sipping his coffee.  They were waiting outside in Paris, France.  They’d arrived for the Trophee de France a few days early for a very specific purpose.  

 

Then, Yuri saw them approach, and he stood up, almost knocking his chair over in his nervousness.

 

Yustev approached with a tiny eleven-year-old, light brown hair in a braid down her back, green eyes taking in everything around her in interest.  

 

“Now or never,” Otabek said softly, smiling gently up at Yuri.  They had this way of telling each other that they loved each other without words.  It was spoken in the silence of long glances, in the whispers of fabric at night, in the starlight as they looked up at the sky and pondered their place in the universe.

 

Their love was hidden everywhere and in everything and Yuri wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

They walked up to the table, and Lucy whispered in French to Yustev, who said calmly, “she speaks English, but not particularly well.  She’s wondering if your friend understands Russian?”

 

“Better than I speak it,” Otabek said with a smile.  “Whatever she’s more comfortable with.  I’m just moral support.”

 

Yustev whispered back down at her, and she nodded, hauling herself onto the chair next to Yuri, her green eyes gazing up at him with interest.

 

In Russian:

 

_ “You’re Yuri.” _

 

_ “Yes.  You’re Lucy.” _

 

_ “Obviously,”  _ she pointed out, like it was an odd thing to say.   _ “You’re my brother.” _

 

_ “You’re my sister.” _

 

_ “Don’t you think that’s weird?” _

 

_ “No, not at all.  I have another sister.  Want to see her?” _

 

Nodding enthusiastically, Yuri opened his phone, easily finding his folder of pictures of Hazel.   _ “This is Hazel.  She lives with me.  Isn’t she the cutest?” _

 

Her bright eyes scanned the phone and looked up at him with wonder.   _ “Can I meet her?” _

 

_ “She’ll be arriving in Paris in a few days, if you want.  We can meet her then.  Until then, I was thinking that I could teach you how to ice skate.” _

 

Her face lit up, and she squealed.   _ “I’ve always wanted to learn!” _

 

They spent the rest of the day at one of the practice rinks.  Yuri showed her how to maintain her balance, and by the end of it she was doing really well.

 

Otabek watched in interest, and Yustev leaned over the barrier. 

 

“I was glad that I received your call.”

 

“He wanted to meet her.  I think he just needed a push.”

 

Yustev smiled knowingly.  “You’re good for each other, you know?”

 

“We weren’t always,” Otabek said gruffly, remembering all of the pain they had to go through to get here.

 

“Love isn’t easy.  Sometimes you have to fight tooth and nail for it, and go through a lot of hurt.  That’s when you know it’s worth it.”

 

Otabek grinned, saying softly, “Want to know something I haven’t told him yet?”

 

Yustev nodded, and the older man whispered, “After this season, I’m going to move to St. Petersburg.  My future is with Yuri.  It’s the only place I want to be.  Training so far apart has been… challenging.”

 

“I wish you both the best.”

 

Yuri was pulling Lucy now, and she was grinning and squealing in delight.  The two of them looked like something out of a movie.  It wasn’t perfect, and they had so much to figure out, but brother and sister would find a way.

 

It just takes some time and a little work, and they’ll find their way into each other’s hearts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it, folks. 
> 
> It was very important to me for Yuri to find his family in the old and the new; that he was able to create a strong and overwhelming bond with little bits of every part of his life. 
> 
> The next chapter will be an epilogue chapter. It will have some much needed closure and cuteness for our characters. 
> 
> Feedback gives me life. Drop me a kudos or a comment if this chapter threw you for a loop.


	12. Epilogue: Age Catches Up to Old Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri enjoys his life and love with his one and only. There are laughs, and tears, and awkward reunions, but above all, there is happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for going on this wild ride with me. I loved this story with all my heart, and here's the proper conclusion.
> 
> “Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them,” -Oscar Wilde
> 
> “Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing,” -Oscar Wilde

_ Three Years Later _

 

There were three reasons why Yuri was angrily tapping his foot, looking down at his watch.  “Viktor, we’re going to be  _ late _ .”

 

“Wow, Yurio,” Viktor ran out of his room, shrugging on his tuxedo jacket, “Someone is in a foul mood.”

 

One: Viktor was always the worst when it came to occasions to dress up.  He’d changed his outfit four times.

 

Two: Yuuri wandered out with Hazel in her silver dress, after having to cut off almost three inches of her hair because she got a candy tangled up into it.  

 

Three: “Beka, for the love of  _ I’m in the wedding party _ I can’t be late!”

 

The older man came out of their room, and Yuri forgot how to breathe, for a moment.  He was in a stunning black tuxedo with dark blue bow tie and cumberbund.  The outfit cut his athletic physique perfectly, and this perfectly coiffed, dark hair was slicked back attractively.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, though the Kazakh man was grinning because he knew that Yuri’s brain was short circuiting.

 

Yuuri and Otabek had offered to move into their own apartment, but truthfully, between training schedules and helping out around the house with Hazel, they hadn’t found the time.

 

Maybe, someday, but…

 

“Today, people!  I will not be late because you can’t get your stuff together!”

 

In the recent years, Yuri’s cursing had become almost nonexistent.  Living with a tiny human had that effect on people.

 

Five minutes later they were all piled in Viktor’s car and headed out of the city.

 

When they arrived at the location, Yuri almost sprinted for the chapel, arriving just in time for Peter to scold him.  “Where were you I was about to call the police to come find you…”

 

“I live with idiots,” he said as way of explanation, and Peter sighed, pressing his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose. 

 

“Just get in there.  She’s freaking out.”

 

Yuri was guided to a back room and unceremoniously shoved in.  His breath caught when he saw her, beaded white dress falling around her like a frozen waterfall, hair twisted up into a rose shape with gemstones carefully braided in.

 

If Yuri hadn’t noticed that she was also hyperventilating, he would’ve stared at her longer.

 

“What am I doing, Yuri!?” Emma shrieked, her jewel-green eyes wide with fear.  “I’m not old enough!  I can’t marry anyone!  I’m a fucking mess and a fool and so bad at making omelettes…”

 

Pressing his finger to his lips, he said assertively, “Making omelettes is not a prerequisite for marriage.  No one who gets married is old enough or ready enough.  Also, if you don’t think you’re a mess before something like this, you must be superhuman.”

 

Her breathing calmed down, if slightly.  Lena was doing Serena’s make-up.

 

“The ceremony starts in thirty minutes and she still hasn’t practiced her vows.”

 

Yuri went into his suit and pulled out the copy of her vows that he had saved there, just in case.

 

Blinking back tears, she hissed, “Yuri, my mascara…”

 

“Waterproof!” Lena called helpfully, and Emma sighed in relief.

 

She practiced them until she was smiling, until all her worries were gone, until suddenly she remembered exactly who was waiting for her down that aisle.

 

When they were given their cue, Yuri took Emma’s arm, smiling with all the affection he could muster.  

 

“Ready to marry the love of your life?”

 

Emma nodded, looking at peace for the first time in days.

 

“Alright, escort and bride in three, two, one…”

  
  


***

  
  


The party was incredible.

 

All of their friends from other bands were taking turns on the stage.  The music was nonstop and epic.  Yuuri and Viktor danced until Hazel was too tired to go on, and after that all the younger people stayed even longer.  

 

Stefan and her were all over each other, and at the end of the night he pulled her into his lap and wheeled them off in Rockin’ Chair to the limousine.  Everyone cheered as they went, and Yuri finished off his champagne, watching them go wistfully.

 

“I know that look,” Otabek warned Yuri, but he just pouted.

 

“We’re not that young, Beka.”

 

“You are.”

 

“There are so many days that I just want to wake up married to you.  Is that so hard to grasp?”   
  
Otabek sighed, swirling the rest of his drink in the champagne flute.  “I think about it all the time, too.  It’s just not something we’re ready for.  We’ll get there, Yura.  I can’t wait for the day that I propose to you.”

 

Yuri snorted.  “You aren’t going to propose to me.  I’m going to propose to you.”

 

The two of them stared at each other, and Yuri whispered, “I bet you that’ll I’ll propose first.”

 

“That isn’t fair,” Otabek complained, “How am I supposed to know when I have to do it to beat you?”

 

“That’s the mystery, isn’t it?” Yuri asked quietly, and soon they were kissing, long and slow, tongues dancing together as the party died around them.

 

“I learn something new about you every day, Yuri Plisetsky.  It’s like you’re a particularly detailed portrait that I have to study every minute of every day, otherwise I might miss something.”

 

Blushing, Yuri smirked.  “You put some of the paint up yourself, Beka.  The art of me has a lot of you.”

  
  


***

  
  


Yuri and Viktor sat in the back of a grand concert hall waiting for the performance to begin.  The two of them were dressed up rather nicely, and Yuri was fidgeting.

 

There was a competition that day and they were between competitors.

 

“Calm down, kitten.  It’ll be fine.”

 

Sighing, Yuri started to undo the braid in his hair, but Viktor stilled his hand, saying softly, “it's been three years.  Don't bow down now.”

 

Yuri nodded, rebraiding the section and staring at the stage.

 

“I think I once told you that my mother also played the piano.”

 

Yuri looked over at Viktor.  The 33-year-old was watching the stage, face flooded with memories.  

 

“The thing about being a musician like them is that your instrument is your first love.  We always come second.  You can't hate a piano for that, Yuri.”

 

The lights dimmed suddenly, and the announcer brought the violinist and pianist onto the stage.  They were both dressed in white, then pianist a small, frail thing in the spotlight.

 

“Mama,” Yuri whispered imperceptibly.

 

The performance began, and it was a soft, hopeful thing, the violin crooning sweetly to the piano, the piano answering in soft, reassuring tones.

 

They sat until the end of the performance, then left, careful to make sure that she didn't see them

  
  


***

  
  


Otabek was adjusting his outfit incessantly, and Yuri smiled, straightening his bow tie and looking down at his boyfriend with affection.

 

“It’ll be fine, Beka.”

 

“I don’t like this,” Otabek admitted, his stomach churning with nerves.

 

The taller man smiled tightly.  “Thank you for humoring me.”

 

They clutched each other’s hands and went up the walkway, knocking on the door.  Yuri’s hands were shaking a little bit.

 

When the maid answered, she smiled at the two of them.

 

“The masters are waiting for you in the parlor.”

 

They wandered into the entryway. Yuri took a deep breath before he led Otabek into the parlor.

 

Music filtered around them.  Natasha Dorokhov was behind the piano, incredibly focused on her task.  Her husband was leaning against the instrument, eyes closed and melting into the melody.

 

For a second, Yuri only saw two fools desperately in love.

 

Yuri cleared his throat, and Edgar looked up, raising his glass.  “Welcome, gentlemen.  What can we get for you?”

 

“Whatever you’re drinking,” Yuri said with a false smile, clutching Otabek’s hand for dear life.  They wandered into the sitting area as the butler poured them their drinks.

 

Natasha continue her ministrations on the piano.  With her silver hair falling around her, Yuri couldn’t help but think of mama.

 

“Grandfather,” Yuri said softly, “I’d like you to meet Otabek, my boyfriend.”

 

Edgar clutched his hand and smiled.  “You have a good grip.  That’s very telling,” his eyes sparkled from behind his eyebrows.

 

They took a seat, and Edgar sat across from them in his navy suit, fumbling a little bit with his glass and looking generally uncomfortable.

 

“So, grandfather, how was your trip to Italy?”

 

Edgar put his drink down and pulled out his phone, flipping through a few pictures.

 

They went through their touristy photos until the butler called for dinner, and they moved into the dining room.  Natasha followed them, winding her arm around Yuri’s shoulders and giving him a tight squeeze.

 

“I missed you, Yuratchka.”

 

They hadn’t all been together in a room like this in three years.

 

They settled in at the table.  Natasha at Edgar’s right hand, Otabek and Yuri’s right hand.

 

Yuri couldn’t stop glancing over at Otabek there, who was trying his best to keep up the small talk.  He remembered when he only imagined the love of his life sitting there, and now it was a reality.

 

“So, we were going to come to the Grand Prix Final this year.  It’s in Barcelona again, right?  Your grandmother and I were just insisting that it’s been too long since we’ve seen Spain.”

 

Otabek glanced at Yuri nervously, and Yuri raised his glass.  “Thank you for your support.  Both of us, optimistically, will be there for you to cheer for.”

 

It was forced.  It was fumbling.  It felt… wrong…

 

...but it was progress.

 

They would never be as close as they once were.  He would never fully forgive them.  However, slowly but surely, they were learning how to be a family again.

 

Step by step.

 

_ June 20th, 2024 _

_ Hasetsu, Japan _

 

The altar was on the sand, and all of their loved ones were settled into their white chairs, chatting and waiting patiently.

 

Yuri was panicking.  The man was anxious in his light blue tuxedo, hair braided back into a ponytail, and he was pacing back and forth in the trailer, hands shaking.

 

A woman with long, blonde hair and a baby bump sat in her dark blue dress, eyeing him warily.  

 

“What was I thinking, Emma?  This was stupid.  We’re too young.  Do you know how fucked up we used to be?  How are we going to do this, we haven’t thought this through…”

 

The woman stood up suddenly, grabbing Yuri by his arms and forcing him to look at her.

 

“Who is going to be waiting for you down that aisle, Yuri?”

 

Sighing, Yuri visibly deflated.  “Beka.”

 

“Who have you been waiting to marry for a vast majority of your adult life?”

 

Breathing deeply, Yuri muttered, “Beka.”

 

“Want your vows?” she asked hesitantly, but he shook his head.

 

A knock came at the trailer door, and Viktor appeared, stunning in a pinstripe blue tuxedo and gold bowtie.  “Ready?”

  
  


***

  
  


Yuuri stood at the beginning of the aisle behind a trellis of roses, and whispered to Hazel, “Are you ready, pumpkin?”

 

She was wearing a beautiful white dress, cheeks puffed up and determined, hair done up in a braided bun.  Her basket full of flower petals clutched tightly in her tiny hands.

 

When the music started, she walked down first, tossing petals happily.  Her bare feet were decorated with gold anklets in the sand.

 

The next people to walk down barefoot were Otabek and his two parents on either side of him, smiling and whispering to him happily.  His hair was slicked back, and was stunning in a white tuxedo and gold bow tie.

 

His parents kissed his cheek in turn and settled into their seats.  Up at the altar were Emma, Stefan, Phichit, and Mila.  

 

Then Yuri started walking down with Viktor and Yuuri on either arm.  He was watching Otabek with a tender look in his eyes, choking up a little bit.  Yuuri whispered comforting words in his ear, and he took a deep breath.

 

When Yuri got to the altar and took Otabek’s hands, Viktor quickly switched to minister.

 

“So, we’re gathered here today to celebrate the union of two souls who are ready to become one.  I remember when our angry son was only sixteen…”

 

“...Viktor…” Yuri snarled, and Viktor chuckled good-naturedly.

 

The ceremony continued as it was supposed to, and Viktor asked sweetly, “Now it’s time for the grooms to speak the vows they’ve prepared.”

 

Yuri and Otabek were watching each other with trepidation.  This was the part that they hadn’t practiced, the part that they were surprising each other with.

 

Otabek went first, pulling a small piece of paper out of his suit and clearing his throat.

 

“Yura.  When I first fell in love with you, I insisted that you were a curse.  That loving you was the hardest thing I’d ever have to do.  I was proven wrong, however, when I realized that you were in love with me too.  We've built a beautiful life together.  I’ve seen you grow and become someone completely new, and I fell in love with him, too.  My love was not a curse, but became a blessing above all blessings.  I’m bound to you in every way.  I’m yours until the end of time.  I’m grateful every day that I got on that plane to Russia.  I can’t wait for us to grow and change, and for me to fall in love with each new version of you.  I’m yours, forever and always.”

 

Yuri’s eyes were brimming with tears, and he sniffled and wiped them on his sleeve hastily as Emma handed him a piece of paper from within her dress.

 

He cleared his throat, and Viktor was beaming at him proudly.

 

“There was a time in my life that I hated myself, that everyday was a chore.  Then you came and showed me that I was worth loving.  You taught me to love myself with every kiss, with every touch.  Not only do I love you with all my heart, but you taught me to love... _me_ , the good, the bad, and everything in between.  I’m yours forever and always.  Everything I am, and everything I do…” Yuri gulped, tears running down his face, looking into the dark eyes of his beloved, “...I will move heaven and earth to show you every day that I deserve you.”

 

Otabek sniffled himself, hands shaking and a watery smile falling upon his lips.

 

“I now pronounce you husband and husband.  You may kiss the groom.”

 

They launched forward like they had been held back by chains and released, lips coming together roughly and sweetly, arms wrapping around each other.  Yuri leaned Otabek back and kissed him deeply, and the music started again.  Everyone cheered in the crowd.  Yuuri and Viktor looked extremely emotional.  Hazel started throwing her leftover petals in the air.  The Katsuki family was cheering loudly.  Even Edgar and Natasha sat in the back row, clapping politely.

 

They were surrounded by love.

  
  


***

  
  


The first dance was under the lights in the Katsuki onsen’s garden.  The Dorokhovs had ducked out after the ceremony, and Yustev and Lucy had ducked in for the party.  Lucy was dancing happily with Hazel now.

 

Otabek’s head was resting under Yuri’s chin, and both of their eyes were drifted shut.  The lanterns hung above their heads and created a beautiful glow around the place.

 

Yuuri and Viktor were also bent together, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears.

 

Emma was giggling in Stefan’s lap as he did tricks with his Rockin’ Chair.

 

“We’ve made it,” Yuri said softly, and Otabek looked up at him, confused.

 

“I told you I’d show you the past, present, and future,” Yuri said happily, brushing his fingers lightly against Otabek’s cheek.  “Today marks our future together.”

 

Nodding, Otabek pulled his husband into a kiss.  “Forever.”

 

There is no such thing as a happily ever after.  They would hit tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.  They would struggle, and come out on top, and fight, and fall in love over and over again with each other.

 

That was the promise they made.  To be there for the “after” of the happily ever after.

 

Life was messy.  Life was sweet.  Even, sometimes, life was swaying together under the twinkling lights, surrounded by loved ones.  

 

The painting of life would always be added to.  The painting was forever changing and evolving.  The painting would never be complete.

 

However, right now, the painting was pure bliss.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful to all of you, and I hope that you enjoyed this. Let me know how I did in the comments. 
> 
> I have a lot of feelings about the grandparents. I hate them, but the thing about love is that it makes you not see things clearly. Sometimes it's harder to hold a grudge. Sometimes forgiveness is both impossible and the only option. I tried to stay true to what Yuri would have really done. I hope that you can forgive me for forgiving them.
> 
> If you like this fic, check out my other YOI fics. "The Silver Devils Play" is ongoing, and the "Across Time and Space" series is a sobfest and also ongoing.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm going to write some more chapters of this fic tomorrow. I'm working on it simultaneously with The Silver Devil's Play, so I'll probably just update them both for a few days straight and then switch to once or twice a week.
> 
> So, yeah, please let me know what you think so far. What do you think of Emma? What do you think of tame Yuri? I love feedback more than Phichit loves Instagram


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